Multiverse
by Future Memory
Summary: He falls in love with a girl he was never supposed to love, and she falls in love with a boy she doesn't deserve. But what if this is not the first time they fall in love, and what if this is not the first time they're destined to fall apart?
1. Chapter 1

_December 31, 2019; **LAST DIARY ENTRY**_

 _Dear diary,_

 _it seems that we've come to our last page, you and I. You've been my faithful companion for the last several years and I've been able to tell you things I couldn't tell my parents or my friends. Sometimes you could listen, with no ears, better than humans who have two. But as a new decade descends upon us, as I leave the only life I've ever known in the old one and enter a new stage, or maybe even a completely new life, I feel as if the two of us should say our goodbyes as well._

 _I will leave you at the bottom of a chest in the attic in my mothers house, just like generations and generations of women in my family before me have done, hoping my brothers grandchildren will eventually find you. It seems selfish to bring you with me, because I don't know if I'm going to have children of my own, or if I'm even able to. I don't know what happens now, but I do know some girl two lifetimes from now will feel weird and confused and angry and for quite some time, you're going to be her only comfort._

 _I hope you'll serve her well, because you hide my rawest, most darkest and hidden emotions. Ones I haven't shown even to **him**._

 _I don't know what time will bring for me, or if I even have much time to begin with. This is how far the story goes, always. The rest is a mystery, a Pandora's box, but one I can't wait to start unraveling._

 _I know my parents will never be able to understand, I'm not even sure I fully understand, and I know this is going to scar them for life, but I hope they find a way to move on. I hope this doesn't break them, but only makes them stronger. Maybe we meet in some other life where I'll be able to use all of my excuses. But in this one, this is how it has to be._

 _There's one thing I do know, though. As long as **we're** together, everything is going to be alright._

* * *

"Elena!" I hear my mothers voice in front of my bedroom door. "Are you up? You don't want to be late on your first day!" she says cheerfully, her voice like a melody from my oldest memories.

She knocks on my brothers bedroom door before barging in. "Jeremy!" she screams his name, completely horrified. "You're not even up yet!" I'm not sure if she's saying or asking. She steps into his room, I know she does by the annoyingly crunchy sound her slippers make while she walks. And then, at one point, it stops. I can hear her exhale through a wall - I imagine her nostrils flaring and steam coming out of them as if she were a dragon. "Jeremy, what did I just step into?"

I groan and pull my covers over my head, wishing for everything around me to disappear, wishing I could travel through time to the beginning of summer.

Wishing for something doesn't make it real, of course, so I push my covers away in order to face my cruel, cruel destiny. Senior year. A year when every senior in Mystic Falls is going to realize they've wasted three years of their life on studying, junk food and lame ass television, get drunk couple times more than they're supposed to, maybe even get high, have sex with a wrong person, pretend they don't hate 90% of their classmates, feel nostalgic and cry over the fact they've probably messed up their entire future for the reasons listed above. At least that's, you know, what happens in movies.

I crawl out of my bed and head over to the bathroom. It's not like my high school experience has been bad. I'm in honors roll, I'm in a debate team and no, it's not as lame as it sounds, I'm in the cheer squad but only because Caroline made me join. My parents own The Grill, which is the only hip place in town where everyone, literally everyone, meet up, and where every party is held. Which means I can't have a beer or kiss a boy without my father watching me from the other side of the room, or my mother trying to shove french fries down my throat. The good news is that there are not that many boys in Mystic Falls my age I would even want to kiss - I can count them on fingers of a single hand. And I don't mind french fries being shoved down my throat that much. Keep 'em coming!

I squeeze out some strawberry flavored toothpaste, because I'm still 8 years old, and push my toothbrush into my mouth. I would say staying up late last night was a big mistake, which is what my brain's trying to tell me, but the memory of him smiling makes up for it. We were supposed to discuss our post-summer future, but we got distracted by more important things.

If this was the real world, and not an angst ridden web of relationships where every untold truth counts as betrayal, I could just come up to my friends and say ' _Hey, remember that guy, the one you said looks like he's torturing puppies for fun? Well, I'm hooking up with him!_ ' If I actually told my friends that, they would probably send me to some kind of mental evaluation and ostracize me from society. I can even see some kind of intervention being thrown, because Caroline is dramatic like that.

I get dressed pretty fast, partly because I've picked out yesterday what I'm going to wear today, partly because women who spend hours and hours deciding what to wear are as much of a myth as mermaids are.

When I go downstairs I make a mental note that my brother is still not down, which means he's not even close to being ready. And I'm supposed to be driving him to school.

"Good morning," I say groggily, my brain still half asleep.

"Morning sunshine!" my mom beams up when she sees me slugging towards the stool. "What do you want for breakfast? Cereal? Waffles? Bacon?" my mother is a breakfast Santa. You want it? Just name it and she will mix it up in a matter of seconds.

"Just a cup of coffee, please," I manage to fake a smile for her. She looks a bit disappointed, with a horrified _my-children-are-all-grown-up_ expression plastered all over her face, but she doesn't fight me.

"Elena," my dad says my name as if this is the first time he has actually noticed me since I came downstairs. Well, it probably is, since this is the first time he has pulled his head out of the newspapers. "Will you be able to help out at The Grill today after school?" he asks sweetly.

I sigh internally. I don't want to work at my first day of school. I want to get slushies with my friends and gossip about who was seen doing who over the summer. But I also don't want to seem like an inconsiderate bitch. My parents gave me everything I ever wanted in life and the only thing they ask in return is that I help at The Grill from time to time.

"Sure," I try to fake a smile. "Can I finish early, though? There's this party tonight, we're doing something to mark the beginning of our senior year, and I would really like to be there."

"Of course," he pulls his lips into a tight smile.

"Mom! Where's my green hoodie?" Jeremy yells from upstairs. Great, he's still not ready.

I give my mom a pointed look before taking a single apple from the fruit bowl. "Tell him I'll be in the car. If he doesn't come out in ten, I'm leaving without him," I shoot a warning before disappearing out of the kitchen. Before she has time to retort, to make an excuse for him.

I swing our front door open and as soon as I step outside, someone grabs my wrist and pulls me away, my body flailing in the air like I'm a rag doll, my knees all jelly and weak. Just as I'm about to scream, a palm appears in front of my mouth, and my back bump against a wall on the other side of the house, away from the wandering eyes.

My mind produces such a silly thought - there are better ways to die than this.

"Elena," I hear my name through a whisper said by a sweet, angelic voice and my mind is instantly put at ease. I know I'm not going to die, at least not right now and not by his hand.

I open my eyes and they meet his. He slowly removes his hand away from my mouth once he's sure I'm not going to scream.

I clench my fingers into a fist and punch him in the chest. "You scared the crap out of me," I hiss at him through my teeth, very quietly in case there's anyone nearby.

"First of all, ouch," he places his palm over the spot on which my fist landed. "Second of all, I had to see you."

My heart skips a beat. "Oh, did you now?" I try to play it cool, but inside I'm as sappy as a Celine Dion song.

He shrugs, his lower lip twitching. "I was in the neighborhood."

I cock my eyebrow at him. "You live on the other side of the town."

He smiles. Not fully, he never smiles fully like normal people do. The corners of his lips go up only halfway, where they freeze. He places his open palm against the wall, leaning in. "You like to torture me, don't you?"

I bite my lower lip, tearing my eyes away from him. With his other hand, he wraps a wandering strain of my hair around his finger, tucking it behind my ear where it belongs. "This is only practice, one we desperately need, since this is the only way we'll be able to meet."

I keep my look pointed down. "I wish things could be different," I say regretfully.

"Maybe one day, they will be."

"I'll try to ease my friends into it.."

"No," he says firmly. I look up at him through my lashes. "I don't want them to ever look at you the way they look at me. I'm not going to be your demise."

* * *

"Elena!" Caroline and Bonnie scream my name in unison when they see me on the parking lot. Jeremy huffs, annoyed, and when they start running towards me, he goes his own way.

I outstretch my arms just seconds before both of them crash into me. I wrap my arms around them and pull them both into a tight hug. I haven't seen my friends all summer. Sure, we texted and talked over the phone, but that's not as same as being in their company.

"I've missed you guys so much!" I squeal, my voice high pitched. I'm pretty sure they could have heard me in Texas.

"We've missed you too!" Caroline says for both of them.

"Girl, you got so tanned," Bonnie notices once she pulls away from me.

"How was camp? Any cute boys? Spill!" Caroline cuts right to the chase.

We start walking towards the school entrance. Everyone stare at us like we're something alien, something out of this world. It's been like that for four years now and I can't wait for it to stop. It's been Caroline's plan all along, for the three of us to climb on the top of the pyramid, on the top of the food chain. I didn't care much for it, so I decided to indulge Caroline, let her do to my social life whatever she was doing to hers. She enjoys it, making plans on how to control the masses. Honestly, if there's ever the question of national security, Obama should just hire Caroline to calm people down.

But looking at him, this wonderful boy I've spent last two months discovering, discovering that everything I've heard and thought about him is a lie, a lie I was so hasty to believe in, makes me glad I've let Caroline take the ropes of my social life. I wish I could change some things, but at least I wasn't lonely.

"Remember Bryan? The one with the pimples?" I say, making things up as I go.

Both of them nod excitedly.

"Well, he's no pimples, all muscles now." I lie. I've never lied to my friends before. Bryan still has a whole bunch of pimples all over his face and plays the flute. Things actually couldn't be worse for a sickly looking teenage boy.

"Did you hit that?" Caroline wiggles her eyebrows.

I roll my eyes. "No, I did not hit that. I was in camp. We have strict rules there and they monitor us all the time." Not really. Maybe the younger kids, but the older kids are pretty much free to do whatever they want. They roamed our rooms for alcohol every once in a while, but that's that. Quite irresponsible, actually. We could have had thrown orgies few times a week and no one would know a thing. Bryan would probably love that.

We pass by the rest of our cheer squad. They give us a weird look, like we broke a cheer code and disgraced our whole school or something, before bursting into bubbly laughter. We greet them with smiles, but keep going our own way. We're not that tight with them.

"This reminds me," Caroline groans. "Rebekah's been spreading some nasty rumor about you."

I give her a surprised look. "Oh?" I always try to be nice to everyone. I try not to give other people a reason to hate me or spread vicious rumors about me. So yeah, this surprises me, because I barely spoke a word to Rebekah in all the time I've known her. We mostly smile and nod politely at each other and she never seemed like a kind of a person who would just make things up for amusement of other people. I didn't even know I'm on her radar.

"She's telling, like, literally everyone, that you've been hooking up with that freak.." she furrows her brows, trying to conjure a thought. "Uh, what's his name?" she looks at Bonnie for help, so I shift my attention to my other friend.

Bonnie seems uncomfortable with saying it, so his name comes out of her mouth through a whisper. As if she believes that by saying his name three times in a row, she will summon him and it's going to be all her fault when he murders us with an ax.

"Stefan Salvotore."

Everything around me freezes. My brain freezes as well. That's my usual reaction to him, but this time it's not as pleasant as it usually is. This time, it's terrifying.

I have to maintain my cool. "I see. And when did this supposed hookup happen?"

"During the summer."

"While I was at camp?"

"See, that's what I said," Caroline continues. "But she swears she had seen the two of you at some gas station near Atlanta while trying to catch some wifi."

Shit, that's right. Our parents were supposed to pick us up, but my mom called me on my cell saying there's this rush at The Grill, so they won't make it that weekend and his parents didn't come for the reasons he never talked about. So instead of staying at camp, we pretended that my parents are still coming and that his intended on picking him up in the first place, sat on his bike and went on a roadtrip. And we did stop at a gas station near Atlanta.

Rebekah wasn't spreading rumors about me, she was simply telling the truth.

"While I was at camp?" I repeat, this time more pointedly, trying to get the point across.

"Relax," Caroline laughs it off. "I never believed my sweet, innocent Elena would ever hook up with a blood sucking monster of the night like him."

Those words coming out of her mouth make me want to punch her in the middle of the face. I'm usually not an aggressive person and I've put up with a lot of Caroline's negative feedback, but hearing her talk that way about him makes my blood boil. She doesn't even know him. All she knows is what she's been able to derive from seeing him for two seconds a day in a school hallway.

"Anyway, meet you after school?" she asks as if she just hasn't dragged someone's bloody corpse across the school hallway. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

"Can't," I pull away from my friends. "I promised my dad I would help out at The Grill today."

"Ooooh," she swoons, wiggling her eyebrows at me. "Is Matt going to be there?"

"Well, her work there, so what do you think Caroline?" I snap at her.

She scrunches her nose, but it's not her reaction I notice first, it's Bonnie's. Sure, she looks surprise, but mostly she looks.. she looks as if she knows. I push that thought away from my mind. How could she possibly know?

"Woah, what's your problem?"

I have to calm down, I can't act as if her words actually bother me. She's can't know. None of them can. Stefan doesn't want them to, for my sake. He doesn't want to ruin my senior year. He thinks people would shove me in the same box with him.

"Nothing. I forgot to pull the stick out of my ass after I woke up this morning. Sorry, won't happen again." Yeah, I'm chill. Chill, fun, cool, laid back Elena. "Pick me up for the party tonight?" I beam up, plastering a wide smile over my face.

She watches me closely for several seconds, trying to find out what's wrong with me, but once she convinces herself that's nothing to find, a smile appears on her face as well. "Of course."

* * *

When I finally arrive home, I'm smelly, tired and annoyed. I smell like a Happy Meal, but I don't feel particularly happy.

I need a shower, this instant, so I go straight for the bathroom.

"Hey princess," my brother calls from his room. I roll my eyes, wanting to strangle him for calling me that, but I walk over to his room anyway.

"What?"

"This came in the mail for you today," he throws a brown package at me, and I catch it, but only after it bumps against my chest and falls into my arms.

I squint at him. "Did you open it?"

He doesn't even pretend he's offended by me asking that question. "No. It's not cash."

"How do you know?"

He grins, but doesn't look at me. "I just know."

Weirdo. "Well, thanks."

"Whatever." He puts his earphones back on, and I move towards my intended destination.

I lock myself in the bathroom and start the water running. I'm going to have a long, mild bath with some kind of a girly scent and nothing's going to stop me. As the tub fills with water, I decide to open my package. I rip through the ugly, brown postal paper and dig through the bubbly wrapping, which I save for later. Who doesn't like popping bubbly wrapping?

I pull some kind of a book out of it. No, not a book - a diary. What is this, the 90's? There's a folded paper on top of it and when I take it in my hands and unfold it, I recognize the scent immediately - aunt Helen. That explains the diary, the woman is 80 years old. I start reading her neat, almost too perfect handwriting.

 _'Dear Elena, as you embark on this journey, one that's going to change your life forever, I send you what's for sure going to be your faithful and often only trustworthy companion. It's kind of a tradition for women in our family to keep a diary and I hope you will continue that tradition with a song in your heart. With love, aunt Helen.'_

Oh. A tradition. I guess that's nice. But I don't think my senior year is going to be a life changing journey. And I don't think writing a diary is my thing. Which is why, when I go back to my room, I put it in the drawer of my writing desk where I dispose all gifts that were a nice gesture, but I'm never going to use.

* * *

When we arrive to the party, everyone are already drunk, but I don't really care. I'm just glad that for once the party isn't at The Grill, but in Tyler's lovely, cozy mansion, where I can drink and chat with people without my fathers eyes darting in my direction like poisonous arrows.

Bonnie stares me down once we crawl out of Caroline's Toyota. "Did your legs get longer?" she looks at my legs, protruding from a small, white skirt I've decided to wear simply because it creates a nice contrast to my skin.

Bonnie's the shortest out of three of us and she says that, standing next to us, she looks like a midget, and that her legs seem chubby in contrast to our long, lean ones. She's being silly, of course, but a girl can never help her insecurities.

"No!" I laugh as I throw my arm over her shoulder, pulling her closer to me.

"Gather up, ladies!" Caroline announces as if there's a whole army of us. She clears her throat, pink, shiny gloss shimmering on her lips. "We embark the journey known as our senior year, and I'll be damned if we don't make this our year the best one yet. We're gonna party, and drink, and dance, and mingle. Can I get one loud hell yeah!?"

I share a look with Bonnie, and all I can see in her eyes is hard determination not to laugh in Caroline's face. "Hell yeah!" we yell at the same time.

"Also," she grins at me, "This is the year Elena loses her V card."

My smile drops, but I stretch my lips in a condescending way, molding my expression into an unnatural grimace. "Elena's not losing anything."

"You can't go to college a virgin," she argues.

"Caroline, you have to stop obsessing over my love life."

She crosses her arms over her chest, pouting. "I don't understand why you don't give Matt a chance."

I shrug. "He's not my type." Honestly, Matt is the most boring effing person I've ever met. I've talked to him only few times in my life, and the only thing he talked about is how much time he spends in the gym, which is a lot.

She cocks her eyebrow in my direction, amused by my statement. "And what is your type?"

Stefan's picture flashes in front of my eyes. His sandy hair, warm eyes, that half smile of his that could conquer the world. The way my body fits into his perfectly, how I'm able to nestle myself in his arms like I'm a tiny, tiny bird.

"If I see him tonight, I'll let you know."

She rolls her eyes, which means that she has given up on the topic. We start walking towards the house. When we enter, I realize that there are couples all around us. Or at least people who have made a drunken decision to hook up.

Caroline rushes over to Tyler, who's chatting with a bunch of his football buddies, and plasters a wet, slippery kiss on his cheek. He seems to enjoy that, since he doesn't protest, but instead wraps his arm around her and pulls her into a kiss. Judging from the expression the other guys wear on their faces, they seem envious of him.

And they're not the only ones, I can feel jealousy growing inside of me as well, releasing its roots around my heart. Wherever I look, there are people kissing, exchanging affectionate looks, or just plainly making out.

I miss him. I wish he could be here with me. I wish we could walk in here, hand in hand like a normal couple, without anyone blinking an eye. Even if I took time and energy to explain the situation to my friends, I'm not sure he would allow me to.

"And then there were only two left," Bonnie stabs me in the hip with her elbow, a soft smile playing on her lips. But when I look at her, there's something else I see in her eyes. The similar envy and sadness I'm sure she can see in mine as well. "You want something to drink?" she asks, exhaling tiredly.

"Yeah, sure, whatever you're having."

She nods and moves towards the kitchen to get us drinks. Even though Tyler's house is huge, we're very well acquainted with its design, since we've been coming here long before he started throwing these wild parties whenever his parents are out of town.

When I estimate that the distance between me and my friends is wide enough, I take my phone out of my bag and start typing.

 _'Miss you. Wish you could be here.'_

I type with such velocity in my fingers and click send faster than I thought humanly possible.

I count to ten, and my phone starts vibrating in my hands. He's fast, maybe even faster than I am. I imagine him sprawled across his bed, his phone resting on his chest, waiting for me to text or call or beg him to take me far, far away.

 _'I know the feeling.'_

* * *

 _AN: Hello, and welcome to my new story. I hope you'll enjoy the journey ahead of us. I'm looking forward to taking it with you._

 _This story is basically an idea I had for a book, altered a bit to be more suitable for a Stelena fan fiction, but this is pretty much my test drive, so bare with me._


	2. Chapter 2

_**February 1943, Tunisia, World War II.**_

 _I can hear the footsteps of brave soldiers marching into possible death. A sure death, if you were to ask my father, who was barely 18 when he fought in a similar war approximately thirty years ago. A lot of these soldiers are not older than my father was back then, and I can see his stories play out in front of my eyes. I can see how he felt, so full of life, so brave, so important, so certain in the cause he's fighting for. He didn't think about the men he killed for years, and I'm slowly learning that that's the first rule of war - the thing you put a bullet through is not a real, live person, it's a rag doll with no family, no emotions, no future. These boys are the same, they're not at war, they're on an adventure. Before sleep they gamble and drink and tell stories from back home and try to convince nurses of loose morals to take their clothes off. To let them have a peak. The older men are different. They don't extract themselves from the crowd, but they don't participate in the debauchery either. They observe the shadows of men they used to be ten, twenty years ago with a distant smile on their faces. But when they pull out the picture of their families from their pocket, tears start pooling in the corners of their eyes._

 _I watch them leave from the questionable safety of our tent, and while young soldiers march to the battle field like toddlers would march to the playground, older soldiers follow them with slumped shoulders. Only crazy men greet war like it's their long lost friend._

 _I assume that's what my mother thought as well, before she fainted. I'm only 23 myself, I have my whole life ahead of me, a baby fresh out of the Nursing school. My aunt, who's also a nurse, helped me find my first job. I saw the sign up sheet in the common room while eating my lunch._

 _I remember when they announced that America is joining World War II, like it's some festivity we've been excluded from and now the rest of the world had let us join the party. People cheered out of fear._

 _I don't know how my name ended up on the list. Someone must have forged your signature, my mother cried out on the day the letter came to our house. What other explanation is there? But my father knew that out of all of their seven children I'm the only one crazy enough to actually go through with this._

 _We sit and wait and try to avoid eye contact. That's the only thing we can do. Few nurses no older than I am start crying. They probably got close with some of the soldiers, maybe even fallen in love in the short period of time they've known them. I wonder how many of those soldiers have girlfriends waiting for them at home, simply killing the time with naive nurses? I mentally prepare myself. In my mind, I go over everything they've taught me in Nursing school._

 _After their footsteps die out, an eery silence follows. I can hear everything, from the wind playfully caressing the leaves to the dust dancing in the air. The silence is almost excruciating, until it becomes as distant as warmth or home or a freshly cooked meal. Once I hear the violent sound of tanks, I fear I won't ever hear the sweet sound of silence again, not even in my dreams._

 _The rest follow. Rifles. Shotguns. And the screams._

 _They bring the first casualty in only several minutes after the noise starts buzzing in my ears. They drop him on the table like he's a bag of flour, in the meantime shouting words I don't understand, but I'm pretty certain I should. The older, more experienced nurses rush over to him, taking bandages and pain killers and lots and lots of other medical supplies I, at this moment, couldn't name even if my life depended on it. The other nurses my age have a similar reaction to mine. Some scream, some even faint, and the older nurses leave them there, hopping over their sprawled bodies. One thought keeps harassing me over and over again - where's his leg and why is it not attached to the rest of his body?_

 _I snap out of it. I know I shouldn't be proud of it, but I am. I'm proud of myself for not being one of those girls on the floor, sleeping soundly in the midst of chaos. I want to ask how can I be of service, but I decide that's an awfully silly thing to ask, so I simply start doing what I've been trained to do. I join the team of older nurses._

 _The wounded soldiers keep piling up. Old, young, it really doesn't matter. Some are missing an arm or a leg or both, while others have the skin of their face completely burned off. Some are already dead when they arrive to the tent, and some die shortly afterwards. Those same, young men - boys, really - with song in their hearts die in my arms, screaming their mothers name._

 _Blood accounts for 7% of human body. Average grown up male has approximately 5 liters of blood in his body. And there are thousands of me men here, some wounded superficially, some wounded deathly. But in the end, they all bleed, some less than others, but there's still blood everywhere. The only thing I can see is, quite literally, red._

 _Some beg me to leave them to die. Some beg me to finish them off myself. Others fight to stay alive, to stay conscious, by repeating the names of their children. Maria. Julie. Dorothy. Joseph. Daniel. Susan. Wherever I turn, I'm met with someones reason to live or die._

 _I can hear the soldiers whispering, the healthy ones, the ones who still have all limbs and a beating heart. We're losing. We're not prepared, we're inexperienced, we're over our heads into this. We need a better tactic. The trucks are coming to take us back to the base before we all die here for nothing. They talk about the people we have to leave behind - they refer to them as bodies. I can't think about them that way, not after I've seen them cry over the pictures of their wives back home, or after I've met every single person they care about through their prayers. Which were, at the same time, their last words. They're just going to leave them here? They're going to create_ _a mass tomb in a middle of nowhere_ _? I know that's the only thing that makes sense. We're at war, there's no space for sentimentality in the middle of the battlefield. I'm in the middle of patching up someones stomach and the only thing I can think about is what are they going to say to their families? The truth? Doubtfully. I wonder how would my mother react if either of her two sons were old enough to join the war? How would she react to someone telling her that her children are dead and that there are no bodies to prove that they've ever existed? She wouldn't, she would drop dead on spot. These mothers and wives will have to bury their loved ones into empty graves._

 _The trucks come sooner than I've expected them to. I guess we really are in a rush. They stop bringing the soldiers into the tent once the trucks come, but help to load the immobilized soldiers into them. Is this really all we're left with? For the past few weeks I've been complaining silently inside of my head about the number of men I'm surrounded with, but now that they're gone, I miss their presence. I miss their numbers and volume and cheerfulness._

 _They tell us to take only what we deem highly necessary, but to leave the rest here. I start loading my pockets with medicine I know we're short with as it is. I'm one of the last nurses who leave the tent. Soldiers urge me to hurry, but they wait for me when I don't. Once I leave the tent I realize that the odor of death is worse outside than it was inside of the tent. I wait in line until they carry the last of the wounded soldiers inside of the truck. I'm the only nurse outside._

 _My eyes hungrily gather in my surroundings. What was once beautiful, blossoming nature is now destroyed, turned into a graveyard. The air is full of gunpowder. The ground is covered by blo_ _ody trails left by soldiers dragging the bodies of their comrades, maybe even friends, towards the safety._

 _Which is when I see something, or someone, in the bushes._

 _"Hey," I pull the sleeve of the soldier next to me. "There's someone there," I point towards the bushes._

 _"We don't have time," his face is hard, stern when he dismisses me._

 _"We're not getting into the truck for at least two more minutes," I argue, challenging him - are you not quick or brave enough to save your fellow soldier?_

 _He looks towards the bushes. He can see the same thing I can see - a man slumped on the ground, wearing the same uniform the soldier standing next to me is._

 _He swallows his grief and pride and compassion as he repeats, "Not enough time."_

 _The hell there isn't, I decide on my own. I've saved far more men in far worse condition today and I'll be damned if let this one die just because someone is insisting there's not enough time to save anymore lives. I storm off in his direction before the soldier standing next to me can even see me moving - one of the perks of being such a tiny, tiny creature. I can hear him curse under his breath when he sees me moving._

 _A woman playing a hero in a mans game. My father would have a good laugh at this, for sure. Only my Danielle, he would say. But when I kneel in front of the soldier I know I've made the right move._

 _He's not badly hurt, but he is badly beaten and probably has a concussion since his helmet is missing. He's still conscious and he's looking at me with those beautiful, clear green eyes of his._

 _"Can you speak?" I ask hopefully._

 _"Yes," he whispers._

 _There's some blood in his light, sandy hair, but I can't seem to trace its source._

 _"Do you have a name, soldier?"_

 _By now, the soldier who was standing next to me back there is kneeling next to me now, giving me a hard, disapproving look._

 _He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out of it, until he coughs. Blood._

 _I look him in the eyes. He can taste the blood in his mouth and he's terrified. But even under all the dirt and blood, I can see that he has a face of a man who could both start and end wars._

 _"If you can carry him to the truck, I can assist him there, inside, while we drive." I don't beg, but I don't instruct him either. I know it's not my place to do so, but I also know that he doesn't have much choice. He can either let this war wipe all traces of humanity off of his being, or he can maintain it by doing these simple, small deeds._

 _He decides to maintain it._

 _"S-Salvatore," the soldier stammers. "You asked if I had a name. I do, it's Frank Salvatore."_

 _I don't know where he gets the strength to speak from. The other soldier helps him to his feet and the three of us start moving towards the truck where they're loading in the last soldier. Just in time._

 _"Do you have a name?" he asks me, leaning into me. One of his arms is draped around my shoulders. I can smell blood and sweat and dirt on him._

 _"I do."_

 _"And what does a guy have to do to learn it? Except give his life for his country."_

 _Butterflies in my stomach make an unannounced and highly inappropriate appearance._

 _"Danielle Gilbert." I give him my name._

 _"Lovely name," he murmurs. "Do you have a number that goes along with it?"_

 _The other soldier grins._

* * *

I wake up drenched in sweat, my entire body tingly from the sensation. I shoot like an arrow into a sitting position, gasping for air. I inhale a mixture of gunpowder and stale blood. I can still hear the violent sound of weaponry and men screaming.

What the..?

I'm in a desperate need of a cold shower, but what I need more is a check in with reality. I shake my head, and the sound, alongside the awful smell, goes away.

I push myself out of the bed and head straight for the bathroom. I look myself in the mirror and, for a moment there, I don't recognize my own reflection. I see myself as I was in the dream - I still have my own narrow face, my skin as clear as water, the birthmark on my cheek on the same spot where it's always been. My nose perky, my lips long, stretched, but thin. I was wearing a red lipstick, which I never wear, since the color doesn't flatter the shape of my lips. My hair was up in a tight bun, similar to the one my grandma used to wear. A white nurses uniform, which was bloody and muddy by the end of the dream, was wrapped tightly around my body. And the wounded soldier on the ground was Stefan. It was us, even though we went by different names.

I blink and the image in front of me disappears. I'm me again, present me, with my stringy hair drenched in sweat, wearing my old, overstretched _Cookie Monster_ shirt.

I miss Stefan, but it's not like we're in the Middle Ages where my father has me locked away in a tower to keep me away from my lover. I can see him whenever I want to. But still, my brain is playing tricks on me by giving me these voodoo dreams.

This dream, though, it wasn't like any of my other dreams. It felt different, real, like I was really there, at least in spirit. As if I was conscious in my dream, my brain active in ways it shouldn't be. After I woke up I could still feel the hot, steamy air on my skin, the same one I felt in the tent, created by the commotion. I could have smelled blood and sweat, just like I could have felt a coat of gunpowder and dirt on my skin.

Shower. Now.

* * *

I met Stefan at camp. I know him from school, but we've never actually met, not officially. Every school has that guy, the loner, the one who doesn't really socialize with anyone, who never comes to any parties or pep rallies, who keeps mostly to himself. It's easy to make fun of that guy, to make up stories about him, to make people believe in those stories, because you know he won't rebel against the rumors. He doesn't care, and you're aware of it, but if the masses feed on him, then that means it's unlikely they'll shift their sharp teeth to someone else. That someone else being you.

When I saw him there, I froze. I've been coming to this camp since I've been a kid and I've never seen him here before. I almost turned around and told my parents that I've changed my mind, that I don't want to do this anymore, but when Caroline in me calmed down I've realized that him being here is not such a big deal. I don't have anything against him, nor have I ever spread any nasty rumors about him. I haven't stopped them either, though, so it's not like I'm Virgin Mary. I've always thought he's kinda cute, actually, in his own way. Not usual high school boy cute, but _I-have-a-secret-which-makes-me-super-duper-mysterious_ kind of cute.

We say goodbye to our families before the camp leaders assign us to our cabins. I've been sleeping in the same bed at the same cabin since the first time I've been here, which was 8 years ago. This is my last year coming here, since they tell me I'm an almost adult now. There aren't many kids my age here, probably because many of them think camps are lame, but this is my summer tradition. Plus, this is the only place I can let my inner geek out, and I've accumulated a lot of material throughout the year.

When I reach my cabin, alongside few of my closest strangers I still haven't introduced myself to, there's a camp shirt on my bed, and my schedule on top of it. I eagerly grab the sheet to check out who's my camp buddy this year. One year my buddy was a boy who kept challenging me to eat a worm. One time he had actually put a worm my cheese sticks, thinking I wouldn't notice. Other than him, the rest of my buddies were pretty decent and I'm still in touch with two of them.

The buddy system has failed me for the second time. At the bottom of the page his name stands, mocking me - _Stefan Salvatore_.

I can see this whole thing going two ways and neither of them ends nicely for me. If he actually ends up being a decent guy and I end up liking him I'll have to turn into a class A bitch because how can I go home and inform everyone that I'm now friends with a town loser? Either that, or he actually does end up murdering me.

I think about going to the administration and asking for another buddy, but I give up on the idea. I would like to think I'm a better person than that. But I also don't want to meet Mrs. Martins disappointed glare one more time.

After lunch I walk up to him to make things less awkward between us.

"Hello," I step in front of him to block his path. He looks at me as if he's the one who should be afraid. "We're buddies," I start, but then blush when I realize how silly I sound. "I mean, we're camp buddies, you and I," okay, that really doesn't sound any better. I exhale. "What I mean is, I saw your name on my sheet form so I thought I would stop by to introduce myself. I'm Elena."

His expression stays the same the whole time. Is he even alive under there?

"Yeah, I know who you are. I'm surprised you know who I am."

Well, he doesn't really look surprised. He doesn't really look much like anything.

Of course I know who he is. I'm friends with the person who made up all of those things about him.

"Well, I do." I can't really think of a better comeback.

"Look, I'm sure the administration can take care of this, if we explain our situation to them."

I furrow my brows. "I didn't know we had a situation."

"What are you even doing here. Aren't you a cheerleader?" for the first time he shows some signs of humanity. He's uncomfortable.

I roll my eyes. "I decided to use my powers for good, unlike many of my teammates," I mock his statement, but he doesn't seem to get the joke. Maybe he's not capable of being funny. "I've been coming here for the past 8 years, and I've never seen you here before, so maybe I'm the one who should be asking you what are you doing here?" I cross my arms over my chest proudly. Ha! Take that!

His face falls and he turns his lips into a weird shape. "My brother thought I should leave Mystic Falls for the time being. Take a break from everything."

Take a break from everything? Everything like.. us? I never thought about how he might actually feel about all the rumors everyone's been spreading about him. He never reacts to them, but that doesn't mean that they don't affect him at all.

Am I actually feeling sympathetic towards him?

"Look, I'm sure we can handle this. I know we lead very different lives back home, but one of the most glorious things about coming to a place like this is that we don't have to be the same people we are for the rest of the year. So can we start over? Hi," I stretch my arm to him before he has a chance to reply, "I'm Elena."

He watches my hand curiously, distrustfully, before taking it into his. "I'm Stefan. And I can't believe you just used the word ' _glorious'_ in a sentence."

* * *

 _September 18, 2015; **FIRST DIARY ENTRY**_

 _Dear diary,_

 _I still think writing in you is so incredibly 90's and if anyone finds out about this I'll burn myself alive. But I have no one else to talk to. I can't talk to my friends because they don't know about Stefan and I can't talk to Stefan because I don't know how to approach him with this topic. I don't know how to make him take me seriously._

 _I've been having these dreams - yes, dreams, in plural - and sometimes I feel like the dream is going on even after I wake up. I simply feel like a different person, like I should live some other life, like some part of me should look or feel or be different. The other day I've looked myself in the mirror and screamed in horror because I couldn't recognize myself. But I looked how I always look like._

 _After the first dream I had, where Stefan and me were a soldier and a nurse in World War II under different names, I've been having similar dreams almost every night. Of course, there's nothing weird about dreaming, but there's something weird about remembering each and every one of your dreams so clearly as if they're still happening. And there is definitely something weird about continuing the same dream night after night. You can't resume dreams - they're like wisps of wind, one moment they're here, the other they're gone. My dreamed stretched out in a story - I saw what happened when Danielle dragged Frank off into the truck, I saw her bandage his wounds at the base, I saw them fall in love under the starry night sky and I saw them fly back to USA together. I haven't seen them ever since. I haven't had another dream since that one, and I've been feeling pretty nostalgic about it. About them._

 _Which is quite silly. How can I feel nostalgic about a dream centered around fictitious people?_

 _I feel like I'm slowly losing my mind._

* * *

 _AN: Thank you so much for your kind words of support, they mean the world to me._

 _To answer your question - this story is more human than supernatural. Well, it's more mythological than supernatural. But Stefan and Elena are mortals. That's as much as I can tell you without revealing too much._

 _I don't hate Matt. Honestly, my fan fictions are not a reflection on how I feel about most of the characters. For example, in few fan fictions I wrote Klaus as a positive character, when in the show I don't like him much. Matt is simply easy to use as a plot device._

 _There's no real reason why everyone see Stefan as the "devil". Kids in high school can be cruel and when they see an easy pray, they bite._

 _To the person who said this story has 'Geography of You and Me' vibes, I'm wondering, is the book good? It's sitting on my TRL for quite some time and I never get around to reading it._


	3. Chapter 3

**_September 24, 2015_**

 _Dear diary,_

 _I've been free of those torturous dreams for a whole week now, but I'm free of them like an addict is free of cocaine - never entirely, never completely, never sure I want to be free, not truly. I can still feel their after affects. One minute I'm fine, I'm making myself dinner or writing homework or talking with Caroline on the phone, and the next minute I become so incredibly sad, the feeling gnawing at me from the inside, leaving disastrous repercussions._

 _I miss something I've never had. I never knew it's humanly possible to miss someone or something that much. Sometimes it even hurts me physically, the way my heart starts throbbing inside of my chest, growing and swelling until it becomes too big for my body. Until it can't fit in the borders of the territory assigned to it._

 _I miss the life I've never lived, the life no one has ever lived, the life that is a handwork of my overly vivid imagination._

 _I remember the way Danielle loved Frank. I remember her falling in love with him, first slowly, unexpectedly, but after the base had been built she rushed into it like rain on a hot summer day and slipped right into his arms. I remember the way he made her smile, the way he awoke the child within her and made it dance and sing and braid flower crowns. But I also remember how brave she was, how determined, how strong. Nothing could shake her or tear her away from something she had put her mind into. I think that's what I miss, and envy, the most about her. She had fire in her soles and magic at the tips of her fingers, something I've always wished to possess, alongside the strength and determination not to look the other way in face of the occurrence I don't support. I'm mourning her, like she was a piece of me that died, some invisible, scientifically undiscovered organ. I'm mourning, like I was her in some past life, like I'm supposed to be her_ _in some future life, or like she's some better version of me, invading my mind, accusing me - she will never live, her life will never take place on this planet because I have settled here. Like a stranger, like an enemy._

 _I don't remember the way Frank loved Danielle, though. I remember that he did, I could have seen it in his eyes and the way the corners of his lips curved when she would say something thoroughly amusing. He has fought many battles, he couldn't wait for the war to end, but the battlefield of their relationship was the one he never wanted to escape. About his love I know as much as he wanted me to know, like his feelings and memories are something that doesn't belong to me, not like hers do._

 _I've never been depressed before, but I assume this is it - tiny waves of sadness that come like a warning before the big, disastrous one. That one pulls you deep to the bottom, and you want to claw and fight, but the pressure is too much, too strong for your body to handle. It keeps you there until you can't breathe, until the air leaves your lungs and your brain loses consciousness, until you give up all hope. Then, it releases you, it gives you a chance for a breath of fresh air, a little bit of hope. And then the circle repeats itself, endlessly._

 _Stefan had noticed that there's something going on with me. He says my smile tastes.. not wrong, but different. I keep telling him that I'm fine, but I can see worry and fear in his eyes, the weight of his feelings evident in the way he holds me, his arms limp as he wraps them around my waist. But how do I tell him I miss something that's not mine to miss? How do I tell him I feel like I'm drowning in wistful melancholy because of long gone dreams? How do I explain it to him, without sounding completely and totally insane, that everyday I'm wondering what happened to them - did they get married, did they have kids, did they even stay together after the war?_

 _Their story is like a book with no real ending, and it's destroying me. I feel like I'm losing my mind._

* * *

"Stefan!" I scream his name from the deep ends of my throat as he tickles me. His fingers travel up my torso, the tips of his fingers sinking into my skin, crashing with my bones. He lifts my shirt up to allow himself access to my stomach, the spot where I'm most ticklish.

I bend my body, lifting my back from the mattress, the air in my lungs made out of bubbles. My body feels like a one giant marshmallow under his fingers.

"Stop, stop," I beg him through laughter, incoherent words crawling out of my mouth.

"Stop?" he asks as if he doesn't know the meaning of the word. His fingers stop pinching at my skin, but he starts dragging them lazily across my stomach, which creates a whole different kind of sensation in my body. "But why? We're having so much fun," he grins devilishly.

"No, you're having fun, I'm choking from laughter," I cock my eyebrow at him, a wide smile decorating my paper thin lips.

"Well, I'm kinda addicted to your laughter, so I don't see the problem here."

I'm sprawled on my back across the entire length of his bed while he's laying on his hip, his body pressed tightly against mine. By now, I'm acquainted with the softness of his mattress and lemony smell of his bedroom, since it has become our one and only meeting place if you don't count few stolen peaks in the school hallway or accidental arm against arm brush in the school cafeteria. His parents never seem to be home, nor does he ever talk about them. He only ever mentions his brother. Sometimes I think he doesn't even have parents, but that's such a silly thought. Everyone has parents, right?

I roll my eyes because that was so incredibly and utterly cheesy. But in a charming way. Charmingly cheesy.

"No, seriously," his voice turns serious all of a sudden. "It's nice to hear you laugh again. You've been weird these past few days," he tears his look away from mine, his next sentence pouring out of his mouth like a stammering stream. "I was afraid that you might have changed your mind."

I prop myself on my elbows, my brows coming closer together in a furry storm. "Changed my mind about what?" I ask, partly because I'm curious what his answer might be, but in the bigger part to avoid talking about the main issue of why I've been acting so _weird_ recently.

He raises his look, surprised I would even ask that. "Us," he points out without much obliquity. "It was different while we were at camp. We were alone, away from our everyday life."

"Stefan," I shake my head, leaning closer to him because I can feel him drifting away. "I would never change my mind about us. I've never been more sure about anything than I am about you."

"It's kinda tiring, hiding from everyone, like we're criminals," he exhales.

"Yeah, it is," I agree with him, a curling smirk decorating my lips. "So why not tell everyone?"

His look hardens with solid determination. "No," he refuses me with one simple word.

"Look, Stefan," I push myself into the sitting position, my tiny figure somehow towering over his large frame. "You're totally worth all the sneaking and hiding and don't think I don't enjoy having you as my dirty little secret," I grin at him like a Cheshire cat, "But I don't really care what a bunch of people I don't know and who won't matter in several months think or say about my love life or my choices."

"You say that now," he tries to stay calm, but I can feel bits of anger and annoyance in the background of his voice. "But you have no idea how it is. People never dared to say anything wrong or mean about you simply because of who you are and who you associate yourself with, but they keep saying ridiculously mean things about me simply because they don't know who I am, and they don't care. You ought to know that, since one of your friends started all those rumors about me," he says with a certain amount of bitterness in his voice, bitterness I could never understand, but bitterness I know is valid.

The look of surprise in my expression deepens, because for the first time he had confirmed that he knows that Caroline is the source of the rumors and mean stories about him. A vortex of emotions appears inside of my body, a weird mixture of feelings - I feel sorry for him, I want to protect him, I want to wrap him into my arms and say I've never believed in those rumors, I'm angry at everyone who dared to spread such lies about him, but I also want to defend my friend by saying that she's the source of _most, not all rumors_.

"I don't want to see the same thing happen to you. I don't want to be responsible for your life," he claims, and I would lie if I said him saying that sentence didn't sting. I try not to be that kind of a girl. A girl who demands a happily ever after or _my life doesn't make sense without you_ or _I would die without you_ kind of bullshit. Those things don't mean anything when you're 17 years old. They're irrational. "I want you to have your normal high school experience, the one you're accustomed to."

 _I don't_ , I almost say, but I don't want to sound as if I'm using him to turn my boring life upside down. In a way he is my adventure, but not that kind - he's not my adrenaline rush, he's the boy who makes me feel as if my skin has a heartbeat of its own.

"My friends aren't going to stop being my friends after they find out I'm dating you."

"They're not?" he challenges me.

And with that question, he makes me think about the things I shouldn't be thinking about. I'm not questioning my friendship with either one of my friends. I'm aware that, to people who don't know her, Caroline might seem like a lot of things, but I've been friends with her since the day she poured sand into my diapers at the playground. Dating someone she doesn't approve of isn't going to ruin our friendship, but keeping it a secret from her for as long as I have might.

"No," I say, quite sure in my answer. "I have to go now. I've made plans with Caroline and Bonnie. But we will continue this conversation another time, be sure of it."

He sighs. He knows that he doesn't have a choice. "Fine."

* * *

I have too many secrets in my life. How did I go from being an open book to the girl who has to write down which lie she had said to who? I'm lying to my friends about Stefan, I'm lying to my parents about my whereabouts, and to Stefan I'm lying about my emotional and mental state.

I wish I could tell my friends about Stefan. If they knew, I could stop lying to my parents about where I'm going to as well.

Maybe I'm keeping so many secrets because Stefan is still a mystery to me. There are so many questions I want to ask him, but I think it's too soon. Where are your parents? Why don't you have any friends? Why didn't you ever fight back? Why are you so quiet, so lonely? How come you didn't let me know sooner how wonderful you are? I don't want to ask him because I'm curious, but because I want to know him, while at the same time I'm afraid of knowing someone so well. Of carrying his secrets inside of me like I carry mine.

"You're late," Caroline stares me down as soon as she sees me enter the room, squinting at me like she's trying to turn me into dust with the power of her mind. Fortunately for me, the force is not with her.

I look at the clock on the wall, its pointers judging me for being twenty minutes late.

"I'm so, so sorry!" I urge my brain to work faster, better, in order to make a quick excuse. "Aunt Jenna called to tell me about some foreign student she met at her university and I simply lost the track of time."

I know that this excuse will work like a charm because a) Caroline has a thing for foreign students, and b) she simply adores Jenna.

Her entire expression perks up at the mention of my aunt and I can see in her expression that in that moment her brain decides that me being late is not such a big deal. I glance at Bonnie from the corner of my eye, she's giving me a blank expression, void if any and every emotion. She knows that I'm lying. Somehow, Bonnie always knows. While Caroline is enthralled by persons excuse, her brain creating a pros and cons list, creating all the ways in which the excuse might harm or benefit her, Bonnie is always watching, following you every move, like a watch dog.

As I stand in front of me friends, on the opposite side, as I watch their expressions change, I feel as if I'm standing in front of a jury, waiting for my verdict.

"It's okay," Caroline says cheerfully, her reaction completely and utterly different from her initial expression. "I have to admit we didn't get much work done either," she bites her lower lip, her eyes guiltily pointing towards a stack of paper in front of her, each of them covered by our new cheerleading scheme.

"Yeah," Bonnie's lips break into a smile, her expression changing drastically. "I guess we can't be mad at you for slacking off when we've been slacking off as well," she says with a laughing tone.

Bonnie doesn't question me further, nor does she try to expose my, to her, obviously blatant lie. She doesn't prefer Caroline to me, but she is highly allergic to injustice, no matter who's inflicting it - her best friend or worst enemy. There could be only one reason why she doesn't feel entitled to exposing my secret.

She has a secret of her own.

* * *

 _ **June 1549, France, French Court**_

 _"Do not talk about the Queen in such matter, Henry!" I chastise him for calling his dear wife, and the Queen of France, a rabid whore. My open palm collides with his bare chest and my eyes pop out at the use of such language. I do not appreciate him using such vile words to describe anyone remotely human, especially not the woman who, by now, bore him four children._

 _He looks at me, completely and utterly baffled by my reaction. "Not to talk about the Queen in such matter?" he finishes the sentence with a quizzical note, but by his laughing tone I know that he's not asking, but transcending a point. "My darling, the Queen would have your head on a spike if she could! And she would keep it in her room, as a decoration!" he raises his voice and anger sets his cheeks on fire. His entire face adapts the color of chilly peppers Lucien uses in the kitchen for some of his more daring meals._

 _I cock my brow at him. "If she could, the Queen would decapitate every person on the Court, including you," I make a point._

 _Henry married Catherine as a political move and their marriage could only be described as controversial in more ways than one. Before he became a King, I wasn't his mistress, I was a necessary mean, a socially acceptable taboo which the young boy could get his frustrations out on. I was a puppet for practice, a marionette so weak she didn't even need her own strings. The women on the Court, from simple servants to royal, noble ladies, often called me a slut or a whore, and the only reason I endured it was because I knew that Henry's love for me runs deeper than that. I wasn't his whore, I wasn't his sex rag, I was the woman who cradled him in his arms after his father introduced him to his future wife, the woman who kissed his tear stained cheeks after his brothers death. Everyone, including Catherine, deluded themselves with the thought of Henry using me for sex. And no one was more surprised than Catherine when her husband left their chambers for mine night after night after night._

 _I was a noble woman because my father was a noble man, but I was never stupid enough to believe that Henry would ever actually marry me. He was the one who carried such delusions in his heart, not me. 'What are you going to do, Henry? Break years of tradition simply because we're in love?' I asked him, angry at him for proposing such a thing, for making such a seductive thought possible. 'Shouldn't one marry for love?' he countered me naively. A pained laughter soared in my throat. 'One, yes. You, no. Not in this world. But you can work hard to build a world where such thing are going to be possible for your children.' His children, not ours._

 _No, I never dreamed of becoming Henry's wife, but I was in his heart long before Catherine came and I knew I would stay in it long after she settles in his life as well._

 _When I met Catherine I was instantly charmed by her. She was so small, so delicate, with her tiny frame and honey blonde hair. But she had fire in her eyes and a pride of true Italian woman. When I told Henry that I approve of her, he was both disgusted and delighted by the knowledge of that fact._

 _Catherine was never my friend, she was my rival. When Catherine came to the Court, she was told about me and my relationship with Henry, but like every young, ambitious Queen she didn't worry about me. But after several years of marriage they were still childless and people started saying that the Queen is unable to produce an heir. So when Henry came to my chambers and I sent him back to his wife, I didn't do it from the goodness of my heart - I did it because I knew Henry has to keep his royal line alive. After the birth of their first child, Henry and Catherine became visibly closer, and jealousy started eating at me. She was young - much younger than me - and beautiful, and she obviously found a way into Henry's heart. When he talked about her I knew that I wasn't the only woman residing there anymore, but as much as he loved his wife, he refused to give me up._

 _And, in the end, that was their demise. While I never saw Catherine as a real threat, she became inexplicably jealous of me. While Henry respected her and loved her as a mother of his children, she was his Queen only in name. She was his consort only in the eyes of the people, but she held no real political power. People of the Court, even the prudish, noble ladies, stopped calling me pejorative names and started addressing me as the Kings Mistress, as if being a mistress of a King is a position of power and admiration. And while Catherine bore his children, sat on the French throne and wore the French crown, while centuries from now people will remember her as the Queen of France, while I'll forever remain the Kings mistress, I had more power than her. I was the Queen without a name and I ruled the country through the Kings name. He would often rush to my chambers with some urgent, political matter, demanding my full attention and advice on the matter. Sometimes he would let me write letters in his name, saying I have a much better way with words than him - my words are soft when needed to be, as well as rough when the situation demands. Sometimes, when the letters bore a lighter tone, he would insist we sign them in unison, as HenriDiane. And while Catherine's pride could have swallowed her knowing that, it could not swallow other people knowing that. That Henry treats his whore as a Queen, and his Queen as a baby making factory. Henry says that the jealousy inside of her ate everything that was ever good or light about her, that she became vile and vindictive. I felt a pang of guilt every time he would talk about her, feeling personally responsible for ruining another woman's life. But does the world feel guilty for putting me in this position, for keeping me away from the man I love simply because my lineage says my head is not fit for a crown?_

 _"Well, good thing I'm the King then, huh?" the corners of his lips go up in a smirking motion._

 _"Indeed," I agree._

 _He looks at me with those dark eyes of his, shimmering with love and devotion and respect. "I have something for you," he declares nervously._

 _"Oh!" I cheer up. I'm used to him giving me presents, jewels and diamonds and the most delicious, creamy chocolate I've ever tasted, but he usually doesn't announce his gifts, so I know that this has to be something special._

 _He jumps out of the bed, bare naked, and saunters over to the spot where he shred his clothes. He turns the pile over and digs through it until he produces a folded, creamy sheet of paper. He rushes towards me and puts the paper in my hands._

 _"It's something I've been working on for quite some time," he keeps his eyes on the paper as my fingers crawl around it. "A symbol of our love," his voice is gentle when he says those words._

 _My heart starts beating faster after those words leave his mouth and I feel like I'm choking while I unwrap the paper. And once I unwrap it, once I see what's inside, I release a powerful gasp._

 _Two interwoven D's with a line through the middle, forming an H._

 _"I'm going to mark every building in my possession with that symbol. Every French canon and sword are going to be engraved with that symbol and so will my armor - I'll wear it as close to my heart as possible so that everyone know that when I fight, I fight for you, and I fight with you by my side."_

 _"Henry," I choke out his name, my eyes pooling with tears, threatening to spill._

 _He covers my hand with his. "You're the most powerful woman in France. You don't rule by the King_ , _you rule the King."_

* * *

 _AN: I apologize it took me so long to update, I was on a vacation._

 _1) No, I do not have a writing schedule, I write when I have time._

 _2) I understand if you're confused and, if you were confused before, you're probably even more confused after this chapter._

 _3) They're not doppelgangers._

 _4) This story won't have any Stefan POV's._

 _5) Will this story have a happy ending? Yes, and no._

 _Until the next chapter :)_


	4. Chapter 4

I wake up sweaty, feeling like my skin is trying to slip away from me. My lungs scream and fight for much needed air, so I inhale deeply, inflating them until they threaten to burst, like a balloon filled with too much water to handle. But unlike the last dream I woke up from, I'm not afraid or unhappy or uncertain. My entire body is vibrating, I feel as if slight current has replaced blood in my veins, making me tremble from the inside. My body is getting acquainted with this new, undiscovered, unexplored sensation.

I have inward goosebumps, the ones I usually get when on a hot summer day a chilly wind appears out of nowhere.

I remember Mr. Saltzman talking about, at that time, controversial marriage between Henry II of France and Catherine de Medici. I remember how he talked, with utmost fascination, about the relationship between Henry II and Diane de Poitiers, but he never pelted us with unnecessary information no way connected with the course of history. Not even his vast knowledge and me closely paying attention to his lectures could ever armor my brain to create such a vivid dream.

I reach for my laptop resting on the desk next to my bed and as soon as I turn it on, my fingers start typing impatiently, too fast for my brain to follow, faster than it can process. _Henry. Diane. Catherine._ When their pictures appear on my screen, gasp sneaks out of my mouth, because 16th century oil paintings come alive in my mind. I recognize the softness in Henry's almond eyes and I can feel his slick cheekbones under my fingertips. I recognize Diane's small strawberry lips and dimples in her cheeks. Her soft, clear skin seems as familiar as if I used to wear it once upon a time.

I remember thinking, during Mr. Saltzman's lectures, how cruel and cold Henry must have been, how hard and dismissive. A King, a man, taking everything for granted, abusing the power given to him. He took on mistresses and devoted more time to them than to his wife, to the mother of his children, his Queen and most trustworthy companion.

I was wrong. I was quick to judge.

I can feel his eyes on me, they warm my skin, they make it boil. I remember his anger at not being able to marry me, damning all the power and wine and gold in the world if the sacred bonds of marriage are out of his control. I remember his passion and ferociousness as he made love to me, as he traced my quivering spine with the tips of his fingers. I remember his reluctance to leave my chambers, I remember the pride in his eyes when I would advise him on some political matter and respect upon understanding important documents. I remember how his eyes would shine when I held the feather which left his signature on the creamy white paper. It was an infantile, boyish mission to beat the system. He chose to share his power with me, which made his heart stronger than a lions. And when I say me, I mean Diane.

I say me because once again I've stolen someone else's memories and feelings and invaded their life like a damned soul without a body, a demon searching for a vessel, only to be rejected by purity and love and brightness. I remember her sadness and her guilt, and I remember it being overshadowed by love and passion she felt for him. When I remember how I felt when he would pull his fingers lazily over my skin, when I remember him planting kisses in the corners of my lips, I don't see Henry. Just like, when I remembered Danielle, I didn't see Frank. When I close me eyes and imagine those men _touching me kissing me loving me_ , I see Stefan. But I don't see his sandy blonde hair and piercingly green eyes or a strong, heavy jaw. I see him as he truly is, from the inside, as he always has been and always will be, in a place where the concept of time doesn't exist and where the laws of physic do not apply.

And that's the most confusing thing, how a memory of a simple touch can seem like an inexplicable phenomenon.

I shake my head, once again naively hoping the motion would shake the dream away as well, but this time knowing better. The dream is never going away. It's going to stay in my mind, invading my brain, until it doesn't feel like a dream anymore, but some distant past occurrence. Some long lost life I have to carry inside of me.

I turn my laptop off. I'm going to be late for school.

* * *

I see Stefan in school hallways, walking from one classroom to another, always alone, with his head always bowed down. As if he doesn't want anyone to see him, to notice him, to know that he exists. I see him in the school cafeteria, where he sits alone in the far corner in the back of the room, eating his sandwich. I see him in the few of the classes we have together, and that's where he sees me as well, because he's sitting next to me. We share the privacy of the back row; he's there because he thinks it's his place, and I'm there because I like to have everything under control, because I don't want my fascination exposed.

In the back row I steal his smiles and secretive looks and, just before the bell rings, I pass him a note. _Meet me behind the school._ I pack my things and leave the classroom before he has a chance to decline my request. I know he won't leave me waiting.

I strategically avoid my friends by going in the opposite direction of the one I would usually take and leave the school by using the back door. I pick this spot to meet him because I know no one ever comes here, except the potheads, and they're usually too stoned to make sense of anything. Even if they see us, they won't recognize us.

I don't have to wait for too long for him to join me. After several minutes the back door opens and he rushes outside, carefully looking around himself, afraid of being seen.

"Elena," he breathes out my name, like it's a long kept secret he can't keep inside anymore. "What's wrong?" he asks, approaching me. He moves slowly, his steps heavy like he wears an armor on his body.

I bring my brows closer together, furrowing them in confusion and slight anger. "Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to see you. Be with you. Talk to you. Make eye contact with you for more than three seconds." I confess.

My words warm him up from the inside, I know they do, but he refuses to let it show. "And it couldn't wait?" amusement sneaks into his voice, against his will, I'm sure.

I shake my head _no_ , innocently. He actually smiles at my baby face with that irresistible half smile of his. But his fear and constant paranoia somber him up in a matter of seconds. "This isn't very secretive," he points out.

I smirk. "No, it's not."

I wrap my fingers around the width of his wrist and pull him towards me. Before he gets a chance to react or protest I stand on my toes and join our lips into a lip-lock, hoping that kissing me will prevail any and every sense of fear.

My hope turns into a wish, and my wish comes true.

His muscles relax and he wraps his arms around my body, pulling me closer to him. He pulls me closer and closer into him, until my toes leave the safety of the pavement and start dangling near his calves. He stumbles, with me in his arms, until he reaches the wall and presses my body against it. I can feel the hard and cold concrete against my back - it makes my spine rigid, but the sweetness of his kisses washes away all the unpleasant feelings, and in a matter of seconds all of them turn into something my body might have experienced sometime in the past.

I remember the first time Stefan had kissed me. After just two weeks in camp with him, he became my friend, and in my mind the real world fell apart. We have built this bubble around us, our own world, where we would banter like we've known each other forever, tease each other over simple, comical failures and talk about anything and everything deep into the night. We would never bring our real lives into our conversation - the fact that he's a weird, lonely boy and the fact that I'm a cheerleader whose parents own The Grill would only enhance our differences. It was like a silent agreement between us; instead of introducing me to the boy I've seen in school hallways, he introduced me to the boy who has a nasty scar on his knee from learning how to ride a bike, loves comics and lives on Pop-Tarts, while I've introduced him to the girl who geeks over YA novels and enjoys glazing cupcakes instead of talking about the girl he knows from overheard gossip.

One night we decided to sneak out for a midnight swim at the lake, and when he took his shirt off I almost started drooling and blessing the clay his body has been molded from. I knew, though, that I can't let that feeling grow into infatuation or something else, something _more_ because as much as we would like to pretend, the real world does exist and with the end of the summer we'll have to join it again.

I think I've realized that I failed at my plan not to infatuate myself with him the morning it was our turn to make breakfast and he made me a smiley pancake covered with jam and my brain started screaming at me that my heart is melting. A nice, good looking boy made me food - how was I supposed to fight that?

He kissed me two weeks after that, while we were building a birdhouse. There was so much sawdust on his skin and in the air, mixed with his laughter after I spilled a can of red paint all over the plastic wrapping on my shoes. I was so annoyed because it was hot as hell and my skin was slippery and I could barely hold a brush in my hands, the can simply fell through my fingers like it's paper thin. His soft, charming laughter filled the air which, if possible, became warmer. _'What are you laughing at?'_ I ask, annoyed, crouching down to see if I can salvage any of the paint so that the birdhouse doesn't have to carry the ugly color of almost white wood. _'You. You're so clumsy,'_ he states, as if he knows me. And in that terrifying moment I've realized that he does, indeed, know me. He doesn't know just my name or what's my favorite color, but he knows my quirks and shortcomings, what I love and what I hate. He carries me within him, and I carry him as well, and he feels so light inside of me, like he belongs there. _'You know, instead of laughing at me, you could be a gentleman and help me out,'_ I try to stay serious, but I can feel my voice flailing. I know this will put him to shame because I've noticed that he does have the gentleman gene. He clears his throat with the help of a cough. _'Of course,'_ he says, ashamed of not being on the floor already. He crouches down, and before he notices, I swipe a bit of paint with my finger and smear it over his cheek. He looks at me, baffled by my action and sudden change in behavior, his eyes widening. I dip my finger in paint again and swipe another line on his other cheek. _'There, you look liken an Indian now,'_ I say, giggling, proud of my work. Which is when he leans in, and kisses me. The kiss is soft, quick, I can barely feel it, but it makes me tremble. He pulls away pretty quickly only to meet my stare, expression full of confusion and wonder. _'I'm so sorry,'_ he starts apologizing for his action, _'I don't know why I did that', I - '_

But he never gets to finish that sentence and I never get to hear his lame ass excuse which is nowhere near the truth, because this time I lean in and kiss him back. But I kiss him hard, so hard that my lips are in pain. I swing my dirty arms around his neck and I fall on my knees, smearing the paint all over my jeans.

I've kissed boys before, some of which I regret, some of which I don't. Some of those kisses meant close to nothing, and some made my stomach flutter. None of them were like this, though.

It felt like that kiss was written in time, bound to happen. My stomach rolled over and my heart start beating faster. _Boom, boom, boom,_ it said. I forgot how to breathe, and I became deaf to the desperate scream of my lungs. _Air, air, air,_ they begged, but I couldn't hear. It was our first kiss, so sloppy and weird and confusing, but at the same time so.. familiar? His lips didn't feel familiar as much as how he tasted and moved and make me feel did. It was like it happened already, before, like I remember it from some other time. He made me feel like this before.. not _him_ him, and not _me_ me, but some other him and some other me were in this situation before.

Ever since that first kiss, every one of our kisses feels like a déjà vu.

"Someone might see us," he says between the kisses, breathing heavily.

"Mhm," I murmur against his lips, "Someone might."

And then I continue kissing him like my life depends on it. And, at moments, it feels like it does. At moments, it feels like he's my source of air and without him, I can't breathe. No one should have that kind of power over another person.

He puts me down and my feet get reacquainted with the ground again. He presses his open palms against the building, over my head, and my arms go around his waist, pulling him closer to me. The weight of his body only pushes my back further against the concrete blocks, making my spine tighter.

"Lena, Lena, Lena," he breaks our kiss, but he doesn't move his face away from mine. Instead, he nuzzles his nose against mine, his breath on my face warmer than the late summer air. "What am I going to do with you?" he purrs into my ear.

"I have few ideas," I whisper teasingly.

"I wish we never left that camp."

"Me too."

Sometimes, I really do.

"See you later at my place?" he pushes himself away from me.

"Yup. You bring the candy, I'll bring the homework, and we can party," I wink at him.

"And we can't do this again," he raises one finger in the air, warning me like he's warning an disobedient child. "It's dangerous."

I bite my lower lip, whispering, "That's what makes it fun."

* * *

"I can't do this anymore," I say, closing my book shut and pushing it away from me. "And there's no more chocolate!" I groan, shuffling through the empty wrapper with a disappointed look on my face.

He peers at me from under his lashes. "Come on, this is not that hard," he says, looking down at me. He's sitting on his bed, while I'm sitting on the floor next to the bed. Soft surfaces distract me while studying. "Did you eat that whole thing by yourself?"

I look up at him, annoyed by the tone in which he had asked the question. "Are you questioning my choices? Are you calling me fat?" I raise my voice.

His whole expression changes. His eyes widen with confusion, even though I can detect a bit of fear in them as well. "N-No!" he stammers.

"You better not," I say, far lass annoyed, the corners of my lips perking up in a smirking motion. "And I know that this isn't hard. It's easy. It's boring me!" I glare at my Math book, trying to destroy it with the power of my mind.

He sighs, flipping the page. "I knew I shouldn't start dating a smart girl," he says through light laughter.

I push myself to my feet, into a standing position, and pop on the bed next to him. "Let's do something!" I yell.

He cocks his brow at me, amused by my behavior. "We're supposed to be doing our homework," he points to his book with his eyes.

"Something else," I coo, giving him my most adorable puppy eyes.

"Like what?"

I plaster a huge grin over my face. "I have several things on my mind," I crawl closer to him, my knees sinking into the comfort of his mattress.

He laughs at me. "I think you've had too much sugar."

"I disagree, I think I've had just the right amount of sugar," I wink at him.

I close the book in his lap and start pushing it away until it reaches the edge of the bed and falls on the floor with a loud, piercing _thud_. I give him an apologetic look, but he just shrugs. There's no one to hear the noise anyway, except his brother, whom I still haven't met.

I put my legs on each side of his body, straddling him, placing myself in his lap. I press my open palms against his chest and push him down. The only reason he actually falls is because I have an element of surprise on my side. I start lowering my torso on his - my palms still pressed against his body - until our faces are in close proximity of each other, until our lips finally touch. I kiss him softly, innocently, my mouth hovering above his.

He puts his arms around my waist and pulls me closer to him. He always does that, like he's trying to pull me inside of him, like he won't rest until we've morphed into one.

We're so close now, my torso is pressed against his, I can feel his lungs rise and fall with every puff of air he takes. My palms are still placed on his chest, simply because I like to keep them there, I like to feel him near me. Sometimes, I need reassurance that he's real, and that he's mine.

I don't usually think about other people while I'm making out with my _super hot secret_ boyfriend, but Henry and Diane pop into my mind. I see her on top of him, buck naked, her usually tamed, curly brown hair is now sprawled across her back, and his fingers are digging deep into her fleshy waist. She lowers herself on top of him, her heavy chest pressing against his as she kisses him deeply on the mouth.

A surge of passion wavers through me, filling me from head to toe.

He flips her around and starts kissing her ferociously, and a mixture of a giggle and a moan escapes her lips.

 _I want Stefan to do that to me_ , is what I think, and in my mind that sentence is followed by the word _again_. Which doesn't make sense, because Stefan never, ever did anything remotely similar to me.

I remember parts of Henry and Diane's lives that weren't a part of my dreams. Things I couldn't possibly know about personal lives of other people. Sometimes a memory pops into my brain, like I've buried it down there out of some reason, but it crawls its way back to the surface against my wishes. My resemblance with Danielle has been uncanny, but I look nothing like Diane. Yet still, I feel the same I did with Danielle, like I'm watching myself through a screen. Like I'm relieving my life through my memories.

"What has gotten into you?" his voice snaps me back into reality. I feel like I'm regaining consciousness again.

I'm met with his utterly confused look, surprise glimmering in his eyes. He's looking at me as if he knows that there's something wrong with me.

"I thought you said you wanted to wait," he props himself on his elbows, eyeing me carefully.

 _What is he talking about?_

After that thought pops into my mind, I realize that I'm not wearing my shirt. I can feel the chilly air on my back and, all of a sudden, goosebumps appear all over my skin.

I look around myself, my eyes frantically looking for my shirt, and when I notice it behind me, near my foot, I remove myself from him and lunge myself for my shirt.

"I-I don't know," I mumble, enjoying the safety of the soft material between my fingers before pulling the shirt over my head. "Like you said, I probably had too much sugar," I can't even force myself to look him in the eye. "I've never.."

I can't seem to finish the sentence, I can't seem to get the words out, and he notices that.

"I know," he says, like it's no big deal. "You know, you're really spoiling the whole cheerleader stereotype with that," he says with a light tone, trying to brighten the mood.

I turn around to face him, after I've gathered enough strength to do so, curiosity shimmering in my eyes. "Have you done it?" I ask, but I know that the possibility of him saying yes is close to none.

And yet, once again, he surprises me. Him surprising me is slowly turning into a habit of his.

"Yeah, I did," he confesses.

Shock and surprise must be visible in my eyes, because he exhales a painful kind of laugh. One that's necessary, not wanted.

"I know what you're thinking," he scratches the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with talking about this. "Who in our school would ever be with me?" he chokes out.

My cheeks burn in shame because that's exactly what I thought, so I chastise myself for it.

"The answer is no one. But just because I don't hang out with anyone from school, doesn't mean I don't hang out with anyone in general."

I often think about what Stefan does when he's not with me. I imagine him sprawled across his bed, reading a comic, or biting the top of his pencil while he's doing homework. But I never imagine him with other people - maybe because I didn't know he has anyone other than me and his brother in his life.

"Oh," I say with more surprise in my voice than there should be, but if he listens carefully he'll also detect a bit of pain that's whispering _why didn't you tell me_?

"They're mostly my brothers friends," he explains.

"I see," I say.

He scoots closer to me, but he never touches me. It seems inappropriate for him to touch me now. "Maybe you can meet them sometime," his voice is soft, gentle, like a caress.

I cock my head to the side. "Why didn't you tell me about them sooner?"

He lowers his head in shame, looking at my hands. "I'm not used to sharing personal details of my life with other people. It's not that I don't want to, or that I have a problem with it, it's just that I never.." I put my hand on top of his as a way of telling him that I'm here for him, and he looks up at me. "I didn't know it's expected of me."

"And are you asking me to meet them because you feel guilty you haven't told me about them sooner, or because you really want me to meet them?"

He seems hurt by me asking that question, but it seems like a pretty valid question to me. "Of course I want you to meet them. I want to share my life with you."

And that sentence puts a smile on my face.

* * *

 _Henry is dying._

 _He has been wounded during a tournament. In the eye. By a fragment of the splintered lance._

 _What a silly way for a King to die, in a match, a game. If not of old age, God should have at least given him the honor of dying on a battlefield, like a warrior. Like a champion. Death worthy of a King, not of a clumsy boy._

 _The Court surgeon is doing his best, they say, but I can feel his soul leaving this Earth, even though it's trying to hold on to it for dear life. I can feel a part of me missing, a part of my heart, or maybe some other vital organ medics haven't discovered yet, one that scientifically proves that love really does exist._

 _Catherine won't let me see him. She won't let me anywhere near him. I guess this is her final act of revenge. This is how she showcases her power._

 _I'm sitting on the floor, my back pressed against the stone cold wall. The soldier in front of his door, guarding his bedroom, seems pretty ironic now - what are you guarding him from? He's already dying. Does Catherine really deem me a worthy opponent that she feels the need to position a soldier in front of her dying husbands door? She's smart, because I am - she knows what a woman in love is capable of. She knows what a woman if capable of, period. The solider is looking at me with pity in his eyes._

 _Henry is screaming my name. He's calling for me. He's been screaming it for an hour now._

 _I'm here, my love, even if you can't see me, I'm here._

 _He keeps screaming my name until he has no voice to scream with anymore._

I don't wake up screaming, or sweaty, or in pain. I don't wake up at all - because I'm not sleeping. I'm remembering.

There are tears in my eyes. There are tears everywhere. I'm drowning in them.

It's a middle of the night, I'm tired, and I cannot stop crying.

I get out of the bed, but whenever I move, I keep tripping over my sadness.

I crawl into the corner of my room, with a blanket in my hands, and stay there, sobbing. A man I love had just died.

But he has died hundreds of years ago, and I never knew him.

* * *

 _AN:_

 _1) No, it's not always going to be half flashbacks, half real time. But flashbacks are crucial for the story, and people in the flashbacks are not random people - if they were random, what would be the point of writing them?_

 _Be patient and pay attention, maybe? :)_

 _2) I knew that Reign viewers would probably imagine Reign characters. DON'T. The year I wrote them in this story is a year in which they were much younger than they're in the show - Francis was still a child._

 _3) And no, this is not Reign/TVD crossover._


	5. Chapter 5

"Elena," I hear Bonnie's gentle voice pulling me out of my thoughts. Even though her voice is soft and low, my sudden detachment from my thoughts is violent. "Is everything alright with you?" she asks, concern visible is every line of her face.

"Yes," I say, surprising myself with how truthful I've managed to make myself sound. My voice used to tremble upon saying a lie, but now it's smooth, not that different from my normal voice. Maybe because recently everything I've been saying is a lie. "Why do you ask?" I cock my head curiously to the side.

"I don't know," she shrugs, as if she really doesn't know why she asked me that question. "I looked at you and you seemed really, really.. _sad._ "

I am not sad, I am broken. I am falling apart from the inside. I am still mourning Henry, as silly as that sounds. My insides are covered in black, when my body can't be - I wouldn't be able to explain it, it wouldn't be appropriate for always cheerful, rainbow and glitter covered Elena to be in all black. People would demand an explanation, and I would have to tell them that I don't feel like Elena they know for a while now. I feel like I'm losing that girl and becoming a culmination of experiences I haven't lived through, but felt strongly through my dreams and memories.

I remember Diane after Henry's death. Her sadness was horrific, her sadness almost made her die. But Diane never gave up on anything, so she wasn't ready to give up on life either, no matter how uncertain her future seemed, now in Catherine's hands. She could kill her, have her beheaded, but Diane knew that she wouldn't because she was hated enough among the common people of France. After Henry died she stopped being his wife and became the enemy again, while Diane was the woman the King himself openly loved and adored despite his duty to his wife. By killing her, Catherine would only make more enemies, which is one thing she doesn't need. It's most likely she'll simply banish her from the Court, and with Henry gone Diane didn't have many things tying her to that place anyway.

I'm saying Diane not because I can't own her feelings, but because I don't want to. Because I'm afraid of doing so. I can feel what she felt so intensely that, at times, I can't detect the existence of my own feelings. It's like I'm slowly losing myself, morphing into something.. someone else. And who that else might be, I don't know, because she's not one, she's many.

"I'm not sad," I say so convincingly that I almost make myself believe it, so I carve a smile on my face with the help of my paralyzed lips. "I'm tired, I didn't get much sleep last night."

Which is true, since I've been crying for the better part of the night, before I fell asleep out of exhaustion, I guess. Still, when Bonnie called to invite me to study in the library with her and Caroline, I jumped on board straight away.

But it's also true that I'm not as sad as I've been after Frank and Danielle, even though Diane's feelings are no less frightening and horrifying than Danielle's were. But I was expecting them, so it was easier to control them, to keep them inside, out of reach of other people. Or so I've thought.

"You also seem very distant recently," her face adapts a thinking expression, like I'm a puzzle she's trying to solve. And that's how I know she's not referring to my state of mind anymore, but to a secret I could so easily share with her.

And I want to, I want to release it so badly, I want to share this burden with someone because I'm starting to feel the full weight of it and it's too much for my fragile bones. I know she wouldn't judge me for it, at least not like Caroline would, but the longer I keep it, the angrier she'll be once she finally does find out. And one day, she will, because I'm not planning on keeping our relationship a secret forever, no matter what he says.

I've been telling myself that I haven't said anything to my friends because Stefan doesn't want me to, but the truth is that I wouldn't even know where to begin explaining myself.

So I put my secret back under the rug, for now, and raise my eyebrow at her. "Me? I could say the same thing about you," I try to let her know that I've noticed the divergence in her behavior as well.

She looks at me with eyes slightly wider than before, confirming that she indeed is hiding something from me as well. Not just from me, but from everyone.

"They didn't have vanilla," Caroline's voice intercepts our conversation, her tone slightly higher than the other occupants of the library would like it to be. "So I brought you regular."

I quickly force my lips into a smile, shifting my entire attitude to normal so Caroline doesn't suspect anything.

"Thank you so much," I say sweetly, taking the paper cup with delicious coffee goodness out of her hands. "Just what I needed on this gloomy Saturday morning," I inhale the sweet scent of caffeine into my nose.

"Umm," Caroline hums. "Elena, it's sunny," she points towards the window with her finger.

I shift my attention from the precious wake up call in my hands to my friend, a smirk dancing on my lips. "Wow, what a way to lose the dramatic flare, Care."

Bonnie crawls out of her state of confusion, and smiles.

* * *

"Dad, I have to leave early, I've made plans," I inform my father while taking my apron off.

"Again?" he looks at me with a playful smile on his lips, "Is there a boy I should be worried about?"

I smile, thinking of Stefan, and how my dad would probably like him. They're both huge Rolling Stones fans, and my dad was kinda a comic geek himself when he was younger. He gave two full boxes of comics to Jeremy several years ago, old numbers from the 70's and 80's that are now probably worth a lot of money, especially to serious collectors. Which is something nobody should tell Jeremy about, because he would sell them on eBay in a second. He suddenly became to cool for comics and similar things, at least if you ask for the public opinion. If you're his sister, then you know he keeps them hidden in the left top drawer of his desk and reads them every night before sleep.

"No, dad," I say through light laughter. _Not one you should be worried about._ "I have my cell if you need me. And I do have my keys, which means you don't have to wait up for me," I say like it's a warning, raising my eyebrow at him.

His smile changes into that sad clown kind of a smile. _My-daughter-is-all-grown-up-and-I'm-not-ready_ kind of a smile.

"Oh, before I forget," he says, raising one finger in the air. "Aunt Helen called and I was instructed to send her regards and to tell you, if you ever need anything at all, you can always call her," he recites her words to me.

I furrow my brows. "If I need what, exactly?" I ask.

"Anything, I guess," he shrugs. He takes a glass and starts cleaning it, which means he's ready to drop this conversation, since he's not paying his full attention to it anymore. "She didn't exactly specify, Elena. You know how she is."

Yeah, I know. She's a warm, kind, generous old lady, living alone in an enormous house. She used to have a family of her own, a husband and a son, but they passed away. Died in a car accident on their way to the store. My dad said his memory of them is foggy, he was 4 when they died, and the boy's been only two years older than him.

"Very nice of her," I say warmly, "I'll be sure to give her a call."

* * *

 ** _October 8, 2015_**

 _Dear diary,_

 _my confusion, anger and fear morphed into curiosity. Don't get me wrong, I'm still afraid, but I've also opened myself to the possibility of asking questions, and to the crazy idea of actually getting answers. And oh boy, I have so many questions, more than my brain is capable of handling at once._

 _I stopped asking myself questions about Frank and Danielle, or Henry and Diane. I stopped worrying about what had happened to them after I stopped dreaming about them, or remembering them, but started treating them like characters in a book, and every book has its ending. And sometimes, those endings remain untold._

 _Every character has its own story, so instead of asking myself how, I started asking myself why. Why am I dreaming about these people? Why am I remembering things I can't possible remember, or know? What is their meaning? Why do they make me feel the way they do?_

 _I don't have any answers, just crazy theories. I'm going crazy - it's a family secret no one ever told me about. I have brain cancer. I'm being punished for something I did. Maybe in this life, maybe in another one._

 _I can't deny the connection I feel to these women. Diane was as stubborn as I am, and she was a proud person, but she also knew in exactly which situations her pride could harm her rather than benefit her. Danielle was stubborn as well, but she was also strong, something I hope I am as well - I have yet to be in a situation in which my strength is being tested. She possessed that calm, non-violent strength._

 _It's not that I just feel the connection to them, but I've also noticed the similarities between Stefan and both of the men. Both Henry and Frank had that same signature half smile Stefan has, even though Henry's been soft, while Frank's was smug. They were warm and loving and their arms were a safety net, their bodies a comfortable place to land on._

 _Seeing them made me.. like Stefan even more than I do. It was like seeing him through someone else's eyes, all of his wonderful qualities I often take for granted because they're a part of him that never ceases to exist. They're constant, eternal. To someone else, to a casual observer watching from the outside, he would seem like a miracle._

 _Which he is._

 _My mind is probably playing tricks on me. I feel guilty for keeping him a secret from everyone I know. I'm conflicted, I want to tell my friends, my family, but I can't. Nor do I know how. As exciting as my theories are, this is probably the answer to my questions - simple psychology._

"Elena?" my brothers voice interrupts me in the middle of my writing.

At the sound of his voice, I close my diary shut, like I'm afraid all of my secrets are going to fly out of it. I look towards the door of my bedroom, where he's leaning against the door frame with a frown on his face.

"Jeremy.." I say his name like I owe him an explanation, like he caught me doing something illegal.

"Why are you sitting on your bed, in a cocktail dress, writing in.." he squints at me, crossing his arms over his chest. "Is that a diary?"

I shove my diary in the top drawer of my nightstand, where it belongs. Where it's safe.

"It's none of you beeswax."

"Dork," he snorts.

I sigh. "Did you need something?"

"Well, yes," he coughs, his face adapting a serious expression. "Don't mistake my curiosity for actual worry, but, is everything alright with you?"

I look at him quizzically, finding his question weird. It's not that I think my brother is incapable of worrying for me, nor do I think he doesn't, but as of lately, I'm not used to him expressing his concern. Jeremy and I used to be very close when we were younger, but then he hit puberty and, well.. it really did a number on him.

"Yes, it is. Why do you ask?"

"I've heard you crying last night," he says casually.

But I freeze in place. I better think of something to say. Fast.

"I was watching a movie. A dog got killed," I say, hoping my voice sounds as normal as possible.

"Okay, but what about the previous night? And the night before that one?"

I shrug. "I guess I've been watching a lot of sad movies."

Silence.

I'm getting good at this whole lying thing. Maybe too good.

"Okay, have it your way. But just so you know, if I find out he did something to you, I will kick his ass," he says.

Wait, was that a metaphorical _he_ or does he know about..

He leaves before I get a chance to ask.

* * *

"Okay, but what if - "

I don't get to finish my sentence because he puts his finger over my lips, shushing me up.

"Stop with the _what if's_ already," he says with a smile on his face.

I look at him timidly. A thought about biting him crosses my mind, but I discard it without giving it much consideration, simply because one finger over my lips won't stop me from speaking up.

"But what if they don't like me?" I murmur.

He removes his finger from my lips once he realizes there's no use of it being there, and rolls his eyes.

"What, like your friends don't like me?" he snorts.

I cock my eyebrow at him, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Fair point," I say.

I'm about to meet his friends, or his brothers friends, or whatever the hell they are - doesn't matter what you call them or how you describe them, they're in his life and I'm super excited to meet them.

"By the way," I pull my eyes across his naked torso. He's rummaging through his drawer, looking for a shirt, and I really hope he doesn't find the one he's looking for too soon. "You're still very under-dressed," I sound like I'm complaining, but I'm not.

"And you're still very overdressed," he says, and all the blood in my body rushes to my cheeks, before he continues and I realize I've taken his words in a wrong way. "We're going to the river bank, just to hang out and drink some beer."

"Don't ever tell a lady that she's overdressed," another voice intercepts our conversation, and I quickly spin my head around, towards its source.

I see a boy - no, not a boy, a man - standing in front of Stefan's bedroom door with a smug smile on his face and arms crossed over his chest.

"Damon," Stefan says his name after pulling the first shirt he can get his hands on over his head, like he's ashamed of being naked and alone in the same room as me.

Damon? As in his brother Damon?

I stand up and watch him as he crosses the room, walking in my direction, surprised and shocked because the boys look nothing alike. Where Stefan's soft, Damon seems rough, and while Stefan has a kind look in his eyes, Damon's eyes are shimmering with mischievousness.

"My little brother obviously doesn't know how to treat a lady," he smirks.

A strong urge to defend Stefan overwhelms me, setting itself on me like a heavy cloud. "He's been doing well so far," I shrug, since I don't want to come off as rude, especially not at our first meeting.

Damon glances at Stefan, smirking at him, and I have a feeling that smirk carries a message, one I cannot decipher. Like a secret handshake I'm not let in on. When he looks back at me, he says, "We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Damon."

He gives me a hand and I grip it like my father had taught me, firmly and decisively. "Elena. Pleasure."

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine," he releases my hand after shaking it several times. "I ought to be going," he says, shifting his attention to Stefan, "You'll follow soon?"

"Yeah," Stefan nods to him with a serious expression, but Damon turns to leave before Stefan's reply.

He raises his hand in the air and starts waving, and even though he has his back turned to us, I can tell that he's still smirking. "Don't be too late."

* * *

When I was little, I remember my mother taking me to the strolls by the river - we would spend countless hours walking around the river bank, throwing stones in the water, watching ducks swim from one side to the other. And that's probably the last time I've been there, back when she tried to teach me how to say _bulrush_ , while I kept stubbornly pronouncing it as _blue brush_.

Stefan parks his motorcycle on a parking lot by the road which is a five minute walk away from the river bank.

"So, I've been thinking," I reach for his hand and intertwine our fingers. He tightens his hold on me, which makes me feel safe, secure, and wanted. "Next week is our threeversary.." I smile.

"A treeversary?" he furrows his brows in confusion, which I find adorable, so my next words come out of my mouth followed by a giggle.

"No! A threeversary. A three month anniversary," I explain.

He looks at me incredulously, like he can't believe those words just came out of my mouth. "And that's a thing people do?"

"Yes," I nod excitedly, looking at him with the shimmering puppy look in my eyes.

He raises his eyebrow at me, corners of his lips revealing a soft smile. "Real life people?"

"You know, Stefan, in some cultures three is considered a lucky number," I say in my teacher voice. At least that's how Caroline calls it, which I think is only a nicer word for patronizing.

"Geek," he snorts. But he doesn't say it offensively, he says it in such a sweet, loving way, as if my geekyness if one of the things he likes about me - maybe even adores to the point I would be almost certain to say it's one of the things that made him fall for me.

"Anyway," I stare him down, "I thought we might do something special. Go to the movies, a dinner.." I propose.

"Elena.." he exhales my name tiredly, letting me know this is not the right time for us to be having this conversation. It's never the right time. "What if someone sees us?"

"Oh, the horror.." I murmur, looking away from him, towards the road. Not turning my head around would be a lot more easier if the road wasn't pitch black.

I turn my head to him, but I never look him in the eyes, simply because I don't want to be swayed by the beauty he hides behind them.

"I thought we agreed to keep this a secret," he says smoothly, as if he's trying to persuade me into believing it, since he very well knows I never agreed to such a thing. I just played along to the scenario he wrote for us by himself.

"No, you decided that we would keep it a secret, just like you decided I wouldn't mind keeping such a big part of my life from, oh, I don't know," I fling my arms dramatically in the air, "Everyone I know."

It's only after I hear the sweet sound of silence is that I realize how highly I've risen my voice. I inhale a last breath of air before sewing my lips shut, watching his surprised and somewhat shocked expression. We stop walking, but neither of us says a word - we just stand there, looking at each other, speechless, with too many thoughts on our minds than our mouths can handle.

"We could stay at The Grill, after closing hours," I swallow. Anything is easier to handle than this silence. "My family would love to meet you. It's one thing lying to my friends, but lying to my parents is a whole new level for me, not to mention it's way harder."

He takes his look away from me and lowers it to the ground. "I never wanted to make a liar out of you," he says, his voice heavy with guilt.

"Oh, Stefan, no," I reach for his hands, but I only manage to grab the tips of his fingers, almost losing them in the dark. "If it were necessary to have you in my life, I would lie to anyone and everyone. But seeing as it's not.." I try to explain to him how harder my life is because of all the lies I have to think of. And it doesn't have to be this way.

"Can we - " his voice sounds impossibly hard when he speaks up again. "Can we talk about this later?" he asks, and my expression falters because I've heard that question one time too many.

And he knows it. He's aware that he's been asking me that question ever since we came back to Mystic Falls, but we never do talk about it later. We always either forget, or pretend to have forgotten about it.

"No, really, we will. I promise," he tightens his fingers around mine. His way of reassuring me.

I smile at him, hopeful he really means it this time. Hopeful he will keep his promise.

"Let's go," I say, making the first step, and he follows.

* * *

The river bank is unrecognizable in my eyes. Declining and raising of water has washed away the beautiful earthy path surrounded by rich, green grass and replaced it with a sorry excuse of a self made sandy shore.

After Stefan assures me that the sand is not actually mud underneath by stepping on it, I step down from the questionable safety of a rare, yellow grass on the sand myself.

"Ah, there they are," I hear Damon's teasing voice in the distance, followed by an actually audible sound of head turning.

All of a sudden I feel like I'm on display, as four sets of unknown eyes stare me down, followed by the fifth set hiding behind Damon's smirking expression. Two girls and three boys are sitting by the fire, each with a can of beer in their hands, and a curious look in their eyes.

Stefan squeezes my hand for support as he whispers, "Come."

We start walking towards them and in my mind these five people watching, one of whom I've already met, seem scarier than a pack of wild lions surrounding me a minute before the lunch hour.

"Took you long enough," Damon teases, obviously trying to strike a nerve. Is this what brothers usually do, or is he being a dick with an extra bit of the douche on the side?

Stefan's brow furrows and he replies, more annoyed than I've ever heard him sound. "Shut up, Damon."

No one reacts to his behavior, while this side of him is completely new to me. Who knew he could be so confident among people?

"Hey guys," he greets the people settled around the fire, sitting on a fallen tree trunk. How very movie like. "Umm, this is Elena," he says kinda awkwardly, not used to introducing his friends to people outside of their circle. "Elena, meet the guys."

"Hey!" a girl with a honey blonde hair sitting on the edge of the trunk says with an offended tone of voice, poking him in the leg with her elbow.

He looks down at her and smiles apologetically. "And ladies," he rolls his eyes.

"Hello," I wave to all of them, pulling my eyes lazily over each face, trying to see them in the dark.

"Hi, I'm Lexi," says the girl who had kicked Stefan, her eyes big, and her voice extra sweet. I smile at her; she seems nice.

The guys are called Elijah and Niklaus, and they introduce themselves to me in a familiar thick British accent which I can't quite place.

"Katherine," says the girl with a raspy voice. She's sitting next to Damon and her face is telling me that this whole introduction thing is boring her.

"And we've already met," Damon winks at me. Why is he acting like such a creep? Does it come natural to him, or is he forcing it?

Lexi motions to the boys to move so Stefan and me can sit down on the trunk as well. Stefan reaches for the can of beer - when he pops it open, when I smell that awful scent, I almost hurl. Mr. Beer and I have a wild, but not so pleasant, history.

"Umm, brother, aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?" Stefan asks, genuinely curious, as if he knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that there might be something he forgot.

"Where are your manners?" he asks seriously. He doesn't tease him, he's not trying to make fun of him, he's.. chastising him? Like a father would. "Doesn't Elena want beer?"

"No. She doesn't like beer," he says.

I make a half disgusted, half apologetic expression. "Beer is not exactly my friend. We had a feud couple of years ago," I explain.

Lexi laughs, and both Elijah and Niklaus smile, amused by my statement. Only Katherine's face remains stone cold.

"Well, there are few bottles of water in there if you get thirsty," Damon says, pointing towards the mini fridge with his eyes, a light smirk decorating his lips.

"So, Elena," Lexi says with an easy voice, like we've known each other forever. "You go to school with Stefan?"

"Yes," I confirm politely. As if she didn't already know that.

"So you probably know our sister?" Niklaus says, dragging his index finger from his body to Elijah's. They're brothers? They look alike as much as Stefan and Damon do, which is as close to nothing as you can get. While Elijah has thick brown hair and hard, serious facial lines, Niklaus has light, slightly curly hair and soft, childlike face.

"Depends on who your sister is," I say.

"Rebekah. Rebekah Mikaelson," he answers.

My look freezes, and so does my mind, but my lips part a bit, not informing my brain about their plans. I look at Stefan from the corner of my eyes - he seems calm, but there's _busted_ written all over his face. How could he not tell me?

At least now I know why their accents sounded so familiar, Rebekah has the same one.

"Umm, yeah, yeah," I say when my mind unfreezes and is able to produce coherent sounds, "We're on the cheer squad together."

Katherine snorts. "You're a cheerleader?"

Still in shock, I stammer. "N-not a s-serious one," I try to keep my voice calm and steady, but I fail miserably.

Katherine raises her eyebrow at me, amused by my statement. "And there's such thing as a serious cheerleader?"

I don't know what to say to that. Yes? No? Explain? All of these people are older than me, they're Damon's age, and everything I say would probably sound childish and immature to them. So I say nothing; Katherine doesn't even look like she's expecting an answer.

After some time my initial shock subsides, but I can't stop thinking why wouldn't he tell me that he knows Rebekah's brothers? They obviously haven't told Rebekah about us, because if they did, the whole school would know by now. Maybe they weren't aware of me until recently. Or maybe Stefan asked them to keep what they know about us to themselves.

Just thinking about Stefan asking their friends not to tell anyone about our relationship sets my cheeks on fire.

I spend the rest of the night watching him with his friends. I don't have a chance to see him interacting with other people often. He seems happy, free.. different.

A whole other, new kind of beautiful.


	6. Chapter 6

"So," he asks nervously, scratching the back of his neck with his fingertips, "What do you think?"

He sounds like an 11 year old on a Christmas Eve.

I get off of his bike, in case my dad is awake and spying on me through his bedroom window, even though I've told him not to wait for me. And I really hope he didn't wait for me, because a boy he knows nothing about drove me home at three in the morning, on a motorcycle. Just one of those facts, standing alone, might give him a heart attack, three of them combined together would surely accomplish that undesired effect.

"I can't believe you haven't told me you're friends with Rebekah's brothers." I cross my arms over my chest, raising my eyebrow at him, trying not to sound too angry, or too judgmental. Maybe he has a good reason for not telling me, so I wait for his explanation before throwing any more accusations.

He watches me, standing there with my arms across my chest and distorted expression on my face, and he doesn't look surprised by my words at all. He knew finding that fact out would infuriate me, and he knows that not telling me about it was a wrong move, which is why his answer surprises me, since he had a lot of time to think of a good excuse.

"I didn't think it mattered," he shrugs, his whole body slumping down. He looks like he's going to turn into a liquid form and melt all over his motorcycle.

"You didn't think that you being friends with one of my friends brothers mattered?" I repeat, barely able to believe what I'm hearing.

"Is Rebekah really your friend?" he asks. He sounds more like he's checking than trying to prove a point.

Well, no, she's not - the truth is, I barely know her.

I point my index finger at him, warning him. "Don't try to change the subject, because that's not the point. The point is that I have to interact with her everyday. Friends or not, we're on the same cheer squad."

He exhales loudly, looking down at his hands. He's nervously playing thumb attack with his fingers. "Which is precisely why I haven't told you. I didn't want to make you have to lie to one more person in the face."

Out of all the possible answers, this one wasn't on my list. It crept up on me, painting surprise all over my face, which is all he sees once he looks up at me.

"What, you thought I couldn't tell it bothers you? I knew it does even before you decided to say anything. I hate myself for making you lie to people you love.. but before we left camp, I saw it as our only option. Because I thought you wouldn't want people to know about us. When you said you would be willing to tell them, though, I've realized I'm the one who doesn't want people to know about us. Because I want to protect you. Because I don't want you losing anyone because of me, nor do I want anyone to think less of you because of me. Because of who I am."

I hate him for thinking like this, and I hate people for making him think like this. I hate them for instilling this fear into him that anyone associated to him might end up being treated like him - which is when I realize why he's always alone, why he keeps to himself, why he has no friends at school. Not because he's unlovable, or antisocial. Not because there's not a single soul in our school who would want to be his friend. But because he never wanted to put anyone in the position of being his friend, in a position where they might be ridiculed or abused simply for sitting at the same lunch table as him. He chose to be lonely so nobody else has to be.

Guilt slashes me open from the inside and I almost drown in it. I hate people for making him think like that, act like that, and I hate myself for being one of those people - I may have never made fun of him, or laughed at him, but I never did anything to stop others from doing so.

"But," he sighs, as if he hates to admit it, "I've realized it's not my choice to make, whether you want to tell people about us or not. It's not my place to make that decision for you. Nor is it fair for you to watch me share my life with my friends, and then forbid you from doing the same."

"Wait," I make a step forward towards him, "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

He raises his head, and I notice a light smile playing on his lips. "Depends on what you think I'm saying," he teases, his eyes locking with mine into a staring contest.

I give him that _quit-playing-me_ look before rolling my eyes so hard that they touch the back of my head. "We're going to tell people?" I try to subside the excitement in my voice.

"Well, you're going to tell people," he points out, "Everyone I know already know."

"Oh, Stefan," I swing my arms around his neck and pull myself closer to him, crashing into his body. His hair smells like honey, and sunshine, and a bit like beer. My senses, as well as my digestive system, fight it, but I tell them to suck it up. For him. Only for him. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

He puts his arms around me, wrapping them around my waist, and buries his face into the crook of my neck, inhaling me instead of air. "You shouldn't be thanking me. I should have never made you keep it a secret, especially since I knew it makes you feel uncomfortable. I just wanted to keep you safe, protected and ignorant of how cruel people can be."

I don't say anything to that, because I don't want to crush his logic, but I know how cruel people can be. I'm surrounded by these girls for years now, and Caroline is the only reason I put up with them. I'm surrounded by girls who actually enjoy exerting power and making other people feel miserable for their own personal gain. I don't tell him he's not their only victim, even though he's one of the most popular choices on their list.

"I've already told you, I don't care what people say or think about me, especially if I know it's not true," I pull myself away from him and look him in that gorgeous pair of eyes of his, placing my open palms on his cheeks, cupping his face. "I've seen those girls destroy too many people by vicious rumors," I don't tell him how responsible I feel for never doing anything to stop them. I don't tell him how I've idly stood by, listening to their plans, and did nothing. I don't tell him because I'm ashamed, and I don't tell him out of fear that he's going to think less of me. How does that saying go, _the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing_? "And my friends aren't going to stop being my friends over the matter of whom I'm dating," I say, absolutely sure of this. "And if they do, they were never really my friends to begin with."

"Okay, okay," he puts his hands on top of mine, "You know them, and yourself, better than I do. The only thing I ask for is heads up before you tell them."

"Of course, of course," I lean into him, his body radiating heath mine so foolishly welcomes. "By the way, I really like Lexi," I tell him.

He smiles. "She's great."

"But I don't think Katherine appreciates my company very much," I murmur, trying not to sound hurt, because I know you don't have to be loved by everyone. Still, I find myself a semi lovable person, and I don't know what I did or said to make her dislike me. Since I knew her whole 2 minutes before she started attacking me.

I can feel his body stiffen under my touch. "Yeah, I should have warned you about Katherine.." his voice starts trailing off by the end of that sentence.

I squint at him. "Warn me about what?"

He tries to avoid making eye contact with me, but I can see the guilt visible in every line and corner of his face. He bites his lip before saying, "Katherine is an ex."

I push myself away from him, not on purpose, but as my bodies natural reaction to that kind of news. I don't have such secrets to hold over his head, because I've never had an actual boyfriend, since boys our age are gross. I guess I could play the game of _guess-how-many-members-of-the-football-team-I've-made-out-with_ , but that seems immature and not like something I would do.

"Oh," I say, irritated at myself for not being able to think of something better to say.

"I'm sorry I haven't told you sooner. I actually debated telling you before we left, but I knew you're already stressed out about meeting my friends, so I didn't want to give you another thing to stress about," he says apologetically. "I didn't want it to be weird for you."

I guess that's fair since, when we were 14 and I met Caroline's first serious boyfriend, I peed my pants a little, trying to keep in everything I know about him. It shows that he knows me well.

"How long have you guys been together?" I ask shyly, keeping my look plastered to the ground.

"Over a year," he answers and, at this moment, after 3 am on a Sunday morning, I wish he hasn't been so honest, because his words knock the air right out of my lungs.

A year of your life is a lot of time to give to another person. So many memories, so much intimacy.

"I see," I try not to sound hurt, or jealous, even though I am, a bit. A whole lot of a bit. "And why did you two break up?"

"She cheated on me," he says coldly, which makes me lift my look up instantly. My eyes meet his, and in his look I recognize shreds of unresolved anger and sadness.

"Stefan, I'm so sorry," I say, feeling awful for bringing it up in the first place, especially this late. Everyone know that you should do your best to avoid your 2 am feelings.

"No, no, it's okay. I should have told you all of this already, anyway," somehow, he manages to put a smile on his face to make me feel less awful. "We were having some problems after she went to college. We basically didn't have much time to see each other. So, when one night I canceled on her, she went out and cheated on me. I always said I could never forgive infidelity, but when I found out, I started making excuses for her. _Maybe she was drunk. Maybe it's my fault._ But it wasn't. I canceled on her, yes, but I had a good reason for it and she very well knew it. She did it out of spite."

Even though I'm aware my brain is having a wrong reaction to all of this, all I can see are Katherine's big brown eyes, full pink lips which can shape themselves into a wickedly beautiful smile, and the clearest skin I've ever seen on a real life adult person. She's beautiful, her presence creating some kind of an addiction, throwing a person into a trans with her seductive, raspy voice and enormous, shiny curls. I'm not a jealous type, nor do I find myself unattractive or unworthy of Stefan - okay, sometimes, when he takes his shirt off, I think about joining the gym before I start drooling and my brain turns into a mush - but still, my brain produces such an ugly and uncharacteristic thought - _how can he, after being with her, settle for me?_

"And how did you find out?" I ask curiously, with an intention to get my mind rid of such depressing thoughts.

"Lexi saw her. She told Katherine she can either tell me by herself, and since Katherine simply couldn't do it, Lexi did it for her," he explains. "So, as you can imagine, Katherine is not Lexi's fan anymore."

I nod, pressing my lips closer together. "Yeah, got it."

After that, silence overrules us, and I suddenly remember we're standing in the street in the middle of the night, and it's creepy. The silence is eerie, and I can't even see his face clearly, just several lines I know well enough to connect into a wholesome picture.

"So, my lady," are the words with which he chooses to break the silence, and I have to admit that I like his choice. "When will I get the pleasure of seeing you again." He puts his arm around my waist and, once again, pulls me closer to him, closing the distance between our bodies. I have to put my hands in front of myself so I don't crash into him, so my palms collide with his hard rock chest and they don't even complain about the pain created by an impact.

"Oh, maybe tomorrow, after I milk the cows, read newspapers to father and help mother around the kitchen," I say sarcastically, even though I try to make my voice sound as serious as possible.

"Ha ha, very funny," he says, seeing right through me. "I'm being serious."

I move my palms from his chest to his shoulders, squeezing them tightly. "I'll call you to make plans," I say, giving him a quick peck on the lips. We'll probably end up hanging out in his living room, it's not like we have too much choice. We will, though, as soon as I think of a way to tell my friends I'm dating him.

"Ah, the suspension is already killing me," he groans through laughter.

"Deal with it," I whisper before pulling myself away from him. "I have to go now. I need sleep, I have to study tomorrow," I start walking away from him towards my house because I know, if it were up to him, he would never let me go.

"Okay, okay," he nods, starting his bike. "But Elena, be careful not to take your clothes off in front of your window, you never know who's creeping around," he winks at me before taking off, rendering me speechless.

* * *

 ** _September 1903, New York_**

 _"Look at that hunky piece of meat that just walked in," Anne points towards the entrance with her index finger, purring, and all the other girls around us begin to giggle, plastering the palm of their hands over their mouths._

 _I cover her hand with mine, trying my best to bring it down. "Would you stop that?" I hiss through my teeth, slowly realizing my effort is futile, because he had already seen Anne pointing at him. He doesn't take offense, but smiles provocatively, taking his hat off and bowing in our direction which only makes the girls giggle harder._

 _"Eliza, it's about damn time you relax a little and take some interest in boys," she chastises me with a stern look in her eyes. "Don't you want to find a husband? Don't you want to be happy?" she challenges me, which I find extremely unfair. Of course I want to find a nice boy to settle down with, sometime in the future. But not yet. I don't believe finding a husband necessarily equals happiness. I want to have fun, maybe even find a job, which is, to Anne and our parents, simply unheard of. What were all those French classes and piano classes and literature lectures for if I don't put them to a good use? I don't want to keep them buried inside of me until they wither and die, disappearing as if they've never took residence in my heart and mind in the first place. Things come easy to my sister because she wants whatever other people want for her. Or at least she pretends she wants all of those things. Mama tells her she's starting her sewing lessons next week - what a coincidence, Anne always wanted to learn how to sew, even though she's them clumsiest person I've ever had a pleasure of knowing. Papa says he wants her to meet the son of a man he works with - what a coincidence, Anne has been thinking about settling down for a while now. To a military man, of course, and not because his occupation is coincidental, but because it's always been a dream of hers. And ever since she has gotten engaged, she thinks that the rest of the world should get engaged as well._

 _"You're being very impolite now," I try to scold her, but the tone of my voice remains as annoyingly sweet as always._

 _"Why?" she cocks her eyebrow at me and places her hand on her hip. "Don't you think he's handsome?"_

 _"Anne, don't you know who he is?" knowing that logic and reason so rarely work on my sister, I decide to turn to the old, faithful deception. "Don't you recognize him?"_

 _"No," she whispers, the posture of her body revealing her hunger for the knowledge she doesn't possess. "Who is he?"_

 _"Mr. Salvatore's son," I say, but her expression doesn't change, she's still waiting for the other shoe to drop since the name I've given her means squat to her. "Mr. Salvatore, the baker," I explain, and her whole expression lights up with understanding._

 _She drops her hand from her hip. "And you think papa wouldn't approve?" she asks._

 _No, I don't think papa would approve my relationship with the bakers son, I want to say sarcastically, but my sister has no understanding of sarcasm, so my trouble would be futile. "No," I say simply instead._

 _"Well," she crosses her arms over her chest, looking in the direction of the entrance, but he's no longer standing there. To find him in this crowd would be an impossible quest. "You can still have some fun."_

 _"Why yes, Ms. Gilbert," another voice intercepts our conversation, semi familiar male voice, rough at the edges, but coated with sugar. Both of us turn around, following the direction in which the voice came from. The first thing I see are the girls faces - they're not giggling anymore, their faces are blood red from trying to hold their laughter in, their lungs probably imploding inside of their bodies - and then, him. His angelic face, soft lips, kind eyes. He's wearing old, black suit, visibly worn, with once upon a time white button up and a blue tie underneath. His hat looks seemingly new, silky grey with a coal black band around its rim. I notice his entourage standing behind him with amused looks on their faces. "You could have some fun. Would you be up for that?" he smirks, and my sister stiffens next to me. I guess the idea of having fun with the bakers son is far less threatening and a lot more amusing than the reality of it._

 _But unlike my sister, I'm not a classicist, and I don't find the idea so appalling, because he indeed is a handsome boy. "I would be happy to inform you, Mr. Salvatore, that I'm having enough fun as it is," I spread my arms, pointing at my surroundings, showing him that I'm not alone, I'm surrounded by 7 other women. True, all of them are my sisters friends with whom I have nothing in common, but he has no way of knowing that._

 _He looks from my sister, who's standing next to me - shocked I would engage in this kind of a conversation with him, one that borders with flirting - to the girls standing behind him, silly grins still plastered over their faces. His eyes make a full circle before falling back on me._

 _"Standing here?" he challenges me with his lips curved into a half smile. "It seems awfully silly to come to a party just to be standing on the sidelines."_

 _I didn't even want to come, but Anne insisted I join them. Everyone knows that Fridays night dance parties are the best way to meet prospective future husbands, and ever since Anne has gotten engaged, all of her friends are dying to do the same._

 _I smile at him, not because I'm polite, but because I feel challenged to do so. "Maybe I don't dance. Maybe I have two left feet," I say, proud of my answer._

 _The guys standing behind him snicker, and my sisters friends start checking them out, whispering among themselves with mischievous grins on their faces._

 _His voice changes from hard, loud and confident to low, sweet and quivering. "I have a hard time believing that."_

 _I cock my head to the side. "Well, you're just going to have to trust me then."_

 _"Or you could prove it to me," he stretches his arm out to me as an invitation to grab it. "Dance with me."_

 _The girls seem surprised by his straight forwardness, since men usually take more time getting to know the lady in question before asking her for a dance. Especially incapable boys. But when you look at him - at the determined look in his eyes, strong arms and confident posture of his body, you know that he's everything but incapable. A boy, yes, but incapable? No. His boys know it as well, because they don't seem surprised by his move at all._

 _"What?" I ask, not appalled, but surprised. I've been coming here fairly often, and no one has ever asked me for a dance. Maybe because there's a lot of common boys here, and everyone know Mr. Gilbert would never marry his daughter off to a butcher, or a mechanic, or a newspaper boy._

 _"Dance with me," he repeats, his voice unwavering. He's half asking, half convincing me to dance with him._

 _I stand there, watching him with my lips parted, thinking of all the ways to say no to him when my brain had already said yes. I find that I can't, not because there aren't any, but because my brain refuses to cooperate._

 _So I give him my hand._

 _"Okay," I say, to my sisters horror, and to the surprise of everyone surrounding me, including himself._

 _He bends his arm at the elbow, trapping my arm under his before I get a chance to change my mind, and leads me to the dance floor. I can feel my hat jiggling on my head, my wild, curly hair trying to escape from underneath it_ _. I have always found wearing a hat indoors an impractical move, especially during the evening when there's no sun, but mother says it's a must. Hats aren't made to be practical, not for women at least._

 _Some people stare at us as he leads me towards the middle of a dance floor, women who will come home and scream in their mothers ears 'Guess who I've seen Eliza Gilbert dancing with at the party yesterday?', who are then going to inform my mother about it next morning at the market. No one would dare to say anything to my father, but teasing a woman about her daughters downfall is one of the rare delights these women have._

 _When we find a free spot we stop walking - he puts one hand on my waist, while the fingers of his other hand intertwine with mine, and all of I sudden I feel too big for my own body._

 _My limbs forget what to do next, but thankfully my brain remembers and helps them out. We start dancing, carried by the sound of music, moving with the rest of the crowd, silence between us heavy and stuffy. I want to crawl out of my own skin._

 _My dress is pressed tightly against my body, the fabric thick and rich, but I can feel the weight of his fingertips as if he's pressing them directly into my skin._

 _"You know, Ms. Gilbert," he says, his voice fighting through the loud sound of the music. "It's not very nice to lie."_

 _"Excuse me?" I ask in horror. I've never lied in my life. Well, except that one time when mama asked me did I steal some of the Christmas cookies and I said no with crumbs stuck between my teeth._

 _His eyes don't go wide with fear of offending me, but stay soft and calm, smiling at me._

 _"You said you're not a good dancer, which is obviously not true," he points out._

 _"I never said such a thing," I tease, trying to distract him from the fact that I have, indeed, told a lie, even though I've used the word maybe at the beginning of the sentence. "I said I may have two left feet. Which I do, I've just learned to use them wisely."_

 _His smile deepens, clearly satisfied by my answer. I notice that he always wears a smile on his face, never taking it off, which makes me wonder is his smile naturally beautiful, or did he drill it into perfection?_

 _"Will I be seeing you at the bakery tomorrow morning?" he asks, opening another topic._

 _"Of course," I nod solemnly. "Just like every morning."_

 _"Wonderful. My morning will be as sweet as the bread we make."_

 _I laugh. "What are you talking about?"_

 _"I like you, Ms. Gilbert, I think that's obvious enough by now," he admits._

 _I shake my head. "You're being silly. You don't even know me."_

 _"Don't I?" he asks passionately. "I remember the first time I've laid my eyes on you. I was just a boy, no more than 8 years old, and I've delivered scones to your house. You were playing the piano. You weren't very good then, but you're wonderful now" he laughs gently. "Even then, though, you've seemed so graceful."_

 _I stare at him with a shocked expression on my face, but flattered by his words. I remember coming to the bakery with my mother when I was a child, and I remember seeing a boy in the distance, with hair as white as flour - I thought that he's an angel, and that he's wearing a halo. I remember coming to he bakery alone, several years later, and thinking that the boy who had sold me bread is beautiful in a way no human should be - in such an unearthly way._

 _"Also," he whispers, looking me straight in the eyes, "I see you in my dreams. Don't you see me in yours?"_

* * *

 _I see you in my dreams. Don't you see me in yours?_

After he says those words, I wake up in my own bed, my hair drenched in sweat. I shoot like an arrow from a laying, into a sitting position, gasping for air, a regular occurrence after waking up from a dream. My shock, surprise and confusion are subsiding with each dream I have, and instead of giving so much free space to so many useless emotions, I save it up for all the important questions I might have. I reach for my diary and yank it open, writing down every detail why I still so vividly remember it. My diary looks more like a notebook for data collection than a real diary, but it serves its intended purpose - I get to confide in it.

What did he mean by that? Did he refer to actual dreams, or did he say it in a romantic context? If all of these women are past versions of me, did they have dreams as well, about their past selves? And if this guy has been having dreams, does that mean Stefan has them as well? Why didn't he mention anything to me? Probably for the same reason I haven't said anything to him - the whole thing sounds crazy.

I close my diary shut, putting it in its rightful place. Past versions of me? What am I thinking about? I'm definitely going crazy. They're going to place me in a psych ward and study me like I'm a lab rat, they're going to do a lobotomy on me, if they even do that anymore.

I get out of my bed and head downstairs for a glass of milk. It helps me sleep. When I come downstairs, I notice that the light in the kitchen is already on and my brother is already in front of the fridge, reaching for a carton of milk.

"Can't sleep, huh?" I ask tiredly, startling him.

He jumps in place, almost dropping the carton on the floor. "Jesus, Elena," he says, closing the refrigerator door with a loud thump. Good thing our parents bedroom is upstairs, so there's a very slight chance of this mild racket waking them up.

"Sorry," I say, the tone of my voice truly apologetic.

But he doesn't take my apology into account. Maybe because he never really got angry with me in the first place. "Want a glass?" he asks instead.

"Yes, please."

He pours us each a glass of milk.

"Hey, Jare, can I ask you something?" I take my glass from the counter and take a sip.

He's already half way done with his glass. "Mhm," he murmurs.

"When you said you will kick his ass if you find out he did something to me, what did you mean by that?"

He smiles mischievously, as if he's been waiting for me to ask this question from the moment he uttered those words.

"You're not as smart as you think you are, big sister," he winks at me.

I squeeze my lips, 99% sure he knows, so I decide to risk that 1%. "How did you find out?"

"Well," he opens the washing machine to dispose his glass. "First, Rebekah Mikaelson starts telling everyone she had seen you on some guys motorcycle when you were supposedly at camp. I thought she's making it up, of course, since Mystic Falls does get boring during the summer and everyone are desperate to find a way to spice things up. Then, the first day of school, I see you shoving your tongue down some guys throat by the side of our house," he makes a disgusted expression, shaking his head as if he's trying to get the image out. "When we came to school that day, I saw a motorcycle on the parking lot, which piked up my interest - could Rebekah be right? I mean, I honestly doubted it, since saint Elena would never sneak out of camp, but better be safe than sorry. After class that day, I waited to see who would climb up on that motorcycle, but I didn't recognize the guy because he had his back turned to me the entire time," he shrugs. Sneaky little bastard. "Not until I saw the two of you making out behind the school few weeks ago, which is when I recognized the guy immediately and knew why you would want to keep it a secret."

My eyes go wide even before he finishes telling the story. We either haven't been careful enough, or my brother is good at playing Sherlock Holmes, which makes me think if there's someone as good at him, or maybe even better.

"Don't worry, your little secret is safe with me," he says, almost sympathetically. "But secrets are not a good thing to have, especially not in a town as small as this one. Someone's always watching. You're lucky it was me, someone who has no intention of socially murdering you," he pats me on the shoulder before exiting the room and climbing upstairs, leaving me in awe.

It's too late to try to decipher all of this, and my mind is already full of things I don't understand as it is. I put my glass in the dishwasher as well, but before turning around to leave the room, I look out of our kitchen window.

Which is when I see someone hiding in the bushes across the street.

Not someone.. something.

I squint, thinking I've imagined it, and try to peer harder.

One moment I can see it, the next I can't, as if it disappeared into thin air.

But I'm sure I haven't imagined it. It was there, protruding from the bushes.

A giant, white wing.

* * *

 _AN: Do you think it's time Elena sees a doctor? Maybe she's really going crazy._

 _1\. Not everyone at their school are small minded asswipes. Most of them simply don't care, or don't want to draw any attention to themselves._

 _2\. In the first chapter, the last diary entry was written from the future - 2019, but they didn't start the new school year in 2019, that's never been stated. They started new school year in 2015._

 _3\. No, Stefan is not cheating on her or using her for some evil purpose. He knows less than she does._

 _4\. They're not werewolves, but they are something._

 _5\. Some people keep asking where this story is going and to give you guys a hint.. there are so many hints in every chapter. Some things are even said plainly. You should have an idea what's going on by now, and some people do, judging from the reviews, so yaaaay for you. You simply need few extra details to fulfill the larger picture, which you'll get in the following chapters._


	7. Chapter 7

"Well," I cock my eyebrow at him, placing my hand on my hip. "If I knew that this was a no shirt party, I wouldn't have brought mine either," I tease him.

He's sitting on his bed in a Buddha pose with a determined look on his face, his laptop placed in the middle of his lap, his fingertips hovering over the keyboard. He's wearing gray sweatpants, but nothing above, and the drops of water from his wet hair are sliding down his neck, onto his chest, following the perfectly deep lines of his muscles. He's obviously fresh out of the shower. I bite my lower lip hungrily, as if I might devour him any second now.

He doesn't look at me, he keeps his eyes plastered to his laptop screen, his look hardening with interest, which is how I know he's not doing his homework. I can see his lips forming into a light smile, "It's okay, I don't mind. You can take it off now."

Even though I'm the one who had started this game, his words make me blush. And when I say blush, I mean set my cheeks ablaze with a burning fire equivalent to that of thousand suns.

I should be at home now, studying for my Chemistry exam, which is next week. But I can't seem to concentrate on my studies, just like last night I couldn't concentrate enough to put my brain back to sleep after waking up from my dream. After seeing that _thing_ through my kitchen window. I was haunted by a horrifying thought that something was watching me. Not someone, but something, and I guess that's what made this whole experience ten times worse.

So I called Stefan to inform him that I'm coming over, leaving my notes scattered all over my bedroom floor.

"What are you doing?" I ask, a bit offended at the fact that he hasn't looked at me even once since I came in.

"Playing a game," he furrows his brows, bringing them closer to one another and leaving no space between them.

"Nerd," I snort. It has became our thing, a catchphrase of sorts - _nerd_. We're both nerds, in our own way, but both of us feel inclined to calling the other one by that word. Not in a derogatory sense, of course. "I stopped for smoothies."

I dangle a _strawberry kiss_ smoothie in front of his screen, and he grabs it. "Thanks," he says, trying to put the straw in his mouth, but keeps missing it. I raise my eyebrow, amused by the sight in front of me, but I help him before the straw ends up in his nostril and he lobotomizes himself. "Thanks," he says again, his look darkening. "Why won't this centaur move? What does it want from me?"

"Hey, Stef, can I ask you something?" I sit on the bed next to him, curious about which game he's playing. It's the same one Jeremy plays, and while I might not know its name, I know that my brother gets angry at a centaur a lot as well. Out of some reason, that puts a smile on my face.

"Sure," he nods.

"Were you at my house this morning?"

"You mean, after I dropped you off?" he asks, confusion audible in his tone of voice.

"Yes."

"No," he says, pausing the game to look at me. "Why do you ask?"

I don't want to sound crazy, so I wager on should I tell him the truth or not. I don't have time to come up with a good lie, but there's another thing as well - I really don't want to lie to him.

"I thought I saw something across the street, hiding in the bushes," I say carefully, with a calm and undisturbed tone of voice, not to offend him. "So I remembered what you said before you left, not to change my clothes in front of my window because I never know who's watching, so I thought it's you trying to be funny.." I sound almost apologetic as I tell him this.

He doesn't take offense, but his expression doesn't change either. "Elena, if I wanted to see you, I wouldn't spy you from the bushes," he says flatly.

"I know," I exhale, realizing those words sound crazier out loud than they did in my head. "I just couldn't shake the feeling that someone's watching me."

He wiggles his brows, obviously trying to light up the mood. "Maybe you have a secret admirer."

I force a smile so his best intentions don't go to waste.

But he knows my smile well, he knows the way my lips curve into a smile when it's truthful, so he obviously knows when it's not. His expression changes, and so does the tone of his voice - it becomes deeper, more serious, more concerned.

"This really worries you?" he alters his entire demeanor, sense of protection pumping through his veins and making his muscles go rigid. I watch his chest rise and fall with every breath he takes, and for a moment there I almost forget about my problem.

"Yes," I say uneasy.

"You say you think you saw something across the street," he points out, helping me turning into a number one priority of his. "Not someone?"

I bite my lower lip. "I know this is going to sound crazy, like, crazier than the stuff I usually say," I try to explain by using extensive hand gestures. "But I thought I saw a tip of a giant, white wing."

I can still see it clearly inside of my mind. It had to bi giant, because the square shaped bush in Mr. Miller's front yard almost reaches the first floor of his house, and the wing was protruding out of it. It was snow white, clearly visible in the dark, glowing under the faint light of the moon.

Stefan continues looking me in the eyes, but his look changes.. all I can see in his eyes is pity. "You were probably fatigued," he says. He's not judging me, nor does he think I'm going insane, but he knows what I'm saying is impossible.

I pull my lips into a thin line, trying to keep all the thoughts inside. "I still am. And this thing is not helping," I shake my half empty cup of smoothie in front of my face. "I need coffee," I push myself off of his bed, heading towards the door. "I know where the kitchen is."

"Can you please bring me some orange juice?" he yells after me, and I raise my arm into the air, bringing one thumb up.

As I walk down the hallway, towards the kitchen, a door swings open and Damon appears in the doorway.

"Oh," I say, surprised upon seeing him, even though I shouldn't be surprised since this is where he lives.

He doesn't look surprised when he sees me standing in front of him, he looks mortified. I frown at his reaction. Damon might not be the most pleasant person I've ever met, but I thought I've filled all of the criteria he has for his brothers girlfriend.

Before he closes his door, in a haste, I manage to sneak a peek over his shoulder. There's a naked female figure on his bed. Well, not exactly naked, her body is covered with a sheet, but I'm pretty sure she's naked underneath.

"What are you doing, walking these halls all alone, little girl?" his usual snark comes back as the horrified face expression from a moment ago slips away.

"I'm in a pursuit for coffee."

"Ah, how lovely. Have fun," he says blatantly, and walks in the other direction. I watch him as he goes into the bathroom, not looking back, not even once.

My eyes glaze over his bedroom door, and curiosity tickles my brain, wondering why did he look so horrified upon seeing me. Is it because I saw that he has a girl in his bed? Judging by Stefan's words, girls often take residency in his brothers bed, so him having one there on a lazy Sunday afternoon shouldn't be treated as an abnormality.

I shake my head, deciding that Damon's sex life is not my concern nor something I would like to think about, and I continue towards the kitchen. My nerves are tingling, awaiting to be drenched in caffeine.

I start the water, and while it's boiling I take out the cup from which I usually drink coffee when I'm at Stefan's. The kitchen is tiny, barely big enough for two people to simultaneously move around comfortably, so by now I know it by memory. But when I reach for the fridge to get milk, I notice something that hasn't been there before. The doors have always been covered with some postcards, magnets and stickers, but in the middle of that mess now lies a picture. It's evidently old picture, its edges worn off, probably taken by a disposable camera, lights all messed up and blurry. A young woman with long honey hair is sitting on an armchair, her smile as wide as her face, holding two boys in her lap. I don't know who the woman is, but I recognize the boys immediately - Damon's piercing eyes and Stefan's shy smile, revealing the lack of teeth.

I smile at it, mainly because I've never seen a picture of Stefan as a child, but I don't put much thought to it. Their mother, the one I've never met or seen or heard, probably found it in some old photo album or a shoe box or wherever she keeps her memories and decided to place it in a visible place, feeling nostalgic because her two little boys are all grown up now.

The water finally boils and I pour it into the cup, stirring it with a tea spoon, when two arms come around me, fingers of two hands meeting at my stomach, intertwining, sinking into my flesh.

"Thumbs up meant I would bring you orange juice, you know?" I say as he places his chin against my shoulder, watching me stir my coffee. The sweet scent of his skin and cheap shampoo erases all existence of the coffee scent in the air, and I don't complain about it, not even internally.

"I know," his breath is hot against the right side of my face, "But I've missed you. Being in the same house as you, but not being with you, seemed unnatural."

I've often read books where girls claimed their hearts skipped a beat, which I never understood, because I claimed it impossible. But it's very much possible - your heart can skip a beat as much as your foot can skip a step. Someone can say something so wonderful and make you forget how to breathe. Those words can engulf your brain and make it forget how to do anything else but process those words, and your whole organism shuts down. Like a poorly oiled machine.

"Your teeth got better," I say, trying to be funny. But out of context, that sentence sounds plain weird.

I can basically hear his facial lines rearranging into a confused frown. "Excuse me?"

"Since you were a kid," I explain, embarrassed. "I saw the picture on the fridge."

He stays silent, as if he has no idea what I'm talking about. And once he detaches himself from me, I realize that he doesn't. He moves towards the fridge, and I know the exact moment in which he notices the picture, because his eyes go wide, and his look deepens with inexplicable sadness. His face cover emotions I'm not even invited to understanding, and for a moment he gets trapped in a memory he didn't even know he still possess.

And then, his jaw tightens. "Damon must have put it here," he says, and I'm not sure if he's telling me, or himself.

"Oh. I thought maybe your mom did." His words catch me off guard since Damon doesn't seem that sentimental to me.

He tightens his jaw even harder that for a moment I think his bones might break. "That's impossible," he says, the tone of his voice a mix of anger and sadness. "My mom's dead."

My eyes go wide, and my brain freezes, refusing to produce any coherent thoughts or words. My mind is buzzing, like a light bulb before it goes off. I don't know what to say, but my lips part, my lower jaw falling down, maybe out of habit, and maybe out of shock.

How did I not know this? Why didn't he tell me sooner? He never talks about his parents, and I've never seen them, so I thought they're one of those distant, always on the business trip kind of parents, so he doesn't really have anything to say about them. And no child likes to admit their parents rather spend their time at work than at home, with them.

I don't know what to do or say in this kind of a situation, because I know that whatever I say, it's never going to be enough.

"Stefan," I whisper his name sympathetically.

But before I'm able to say another word, he takes over. "She got sick when I was five, and died soon after. Pancreatic cancer. I didn't even know what that means back then, nor did I understand why she had to go because of it." When he finally looks at me, his eyes are two big, black orbs, void of every lightness and emotion they usually possess. Is this what Caroline sees when she looks at him? "My father took it hard, when she died. He started drinking, and he never stopped. He was never mean to us, or violent, but ever since she died he was never good to us either. He was never anything to us, except a source of income. Half of his paycheck went to us, and half of it went to his booze. Until he got fired, of course," he smiles, as if what he had said is actually funny. He shifts his attention from me back to the picture, which is when I realize he didn't smile because it's funny, he smiled to hide the pain. "Damon found a job at 16, but forbid me from doing the same because.. I don't know why. They're Damon's reasons, unknown to me," he shrugs. He stopped trying to understand his brother a long time ago, it seems. "After he lost his job, our father started disappearing. The first time he didn't come home for two days, but as time went by days grew into weeks, and weeks into months. We haven't seen him for more than four months now. Damon thinks he's not coming back this time, that's why he hanged this picture here. Our father can barely stand the memory of our mother, which means that pictures are out of the question."

He looks back at me, this time less grim. "You don't have to say anything," he swallows. "I wanted to tell you, a lot of times. But you make me happy, and talking about my parents makes me sad, and those two things don't mix well together."

I want to say something, anything, but I forgot how to.

So I walk over to him, my body falling gently against his instead of crushing into it like it usually does, and I give him a hug.

I can feel his arms around me - he's hugging me back. He buries his face into my hair. His eyes are wet, but I don't say anything. I don't say anything at all.

I guess I was wrong.

Not everyone has parents.

* * *

"Well, that was awful," I groan as we make our way out of the classroom, bumping against other lost and disappointed students. "A train wreck. No respected University is going to accept me now. I can kiss my future goodbye and start preparing for a career of serving tables at The Grill."

Caroline rolls her eyes, completely unaffected by the exam we all just walked out of. "Elena, one exam won't minimize your chances of getting into a college. Plus, I'm sure you won't fail."

"Fail?" I roar, making several other students turn their heads in our direction. "I was talking about getting a B. Or worse, a B+! Failing is one thing, but getting a B is being just one step away from success!"

"You're crazier than I thought," she shakes her head, a soft smile visible on her lips. I guess both of us are a different kind of crazy, and those kinds accidentally play well with one another.

"Listen, guys," I say, the tone of my voice turning serious, "I have to talk to you about something. Well, actually, I have to tell you something," I try to be precise.

"Oh God," Caroline cries out, while Bonnie stays calm and collected. Actually, Bonnie's been pretty quiet the whole day today, like she's trying to be invisible. "Are you thinking about getting a perm?"

"What?" I furrow my brows out of confusion. "No!"

Caroline puts her palm over her heart, exhaling with relief. "Oh. Okay. Carry on then."

I look around. There are people all around us. People who would die to get their ears on this kind of a thing. And I can't count on Caroline not making a scene once I tell her.

"Not here. Can we go somewhere.. to The Grill, maybe?"

Business lunch is long over, and students are going home after school, so The Grill is going to be empty for another hour at least.

"Sure," Caroline agrees, not questioning my motives.

Bonnie nods, keeping her look down, trying not to meet my eyes. I make a mental note to ask her what's wrong later.

* * *

Luckily, I was right, The Grill is basically empty. There are only few tables occupied, by people I don't recognize, but I'm still careful enough to pick a table far away from them. I wave at my dad who's standing by the bar, doing his crossword, and he smiles in our direction.

"Can we get three sodas?" I ask, yelling across the place, something he had told me not to do at least hundred times.

"Sure," he nods, motioning for Millie, the waitress, to bring us our drinks. Millie is a student at Whitmore and I've never seen her smile or convey any other facial expression than the one she usually wears, which is grumpiness. I think she's a robot.

"So, what did you want to talk to us about?" Caroline gets right down to business. "I mean, tell us."

"Right," I say. When I've told Stefan I'm going to tell them today, I've also asked him to help me write an essay on what to tell them, but he had called me an insane nerd and told me that I don't need an essay to tell my friends that I have a boyfriend. Nevertheless, I've tried to write one on my own but, of course, that didn't work.

Millie comes over, lowers three glasses of soda on the table, and saunters away without a word.

"Are you in a cult? Did you lose your virginity to a married man who remembers how the 80's have been? Are you joining the circus? Are you taking a lap year to find yourself, and you want our advice on should you tell your parents the truth that you're actually experimenting with a girl?" she says in one breath, and Bonnie's eyes go wide as soon as she starts babbling, listing all of these ridiculous things.

"Are you okay?" I try to reach for her hand, but she pulls it away and jumps on her chair like a hyperactive child on too much sugar.

"No, I'm not! You told us you have something to tell us 15 minutes ago, and I've tried to stay calm, but you very well know that curiosity gives me that weird rash!" she raises her voice, so I glance at my father, worried that he might have heard her. He didn't, all of his attention is still on his crossword. "Do you know how many scenarios I've created in my head? At least two hundred!" Bonnie and I continue to stare at her as she lets all of her crazy out.

"Okay, okay," I say, trying to calm her down before she disturbs my dad and/or scares all of the customers away. "First of all, you have to know that I didn't lie to you. Well, technically, I did, but.. I was simply not telling you the truth while I figure out how to tell you."

Caroline calms down, but pulls her lips into a tight line. "Well, this story has a lovely beginning," she says dryly.

"And you've figured out how to tell us?" Bonnie asks.

"No," I say firmly. "But I can't stand it anymore. Lying to you. Not telling the truth. Hiding the truth. Whatever you want to call it."

"Lying sounds perfectly fine to me." Caroline again. I knew she would be angry. She hates lies as much as Bonnie hates injustice.

I inhale deeply, like I'm trying to inhale courage instead of air. "Remember when you asked me did I find anyone at camp, and I said no? Well, I wasn't being truthful," I try to avoid the word _lie_. I try not to remind them that I've been lying to them all this time. "I did find someone. Not a summer fling, not someone.." I don't know how to explain it without using the word that's only meant for him. At least the first time. "I found someone I really, really like. A lot. More than a lot. More than cheese," I try to emphasize.

"Why would you keep something like that a secret?" Caroline asks, completely and utterly confused. But when I look at Bonnie, I come to find that she's not. As if she already knows. But how? Who could have told her? The only other person who knows is Jeremy, and my brother doesn't really interact with either of my friends. "Did he turn out not to be who you thought he is? Did it end badly?" her curiosity morphs into concern.

"No, he actually turned out to be more than I thought," I smile as his face pops into my mind, but sobers up before I say the next sentence. "And you know him."

She cheers up. "That's great. Still doesn't explain why you didn't tell us."

I look at her pointedly, hoping that my look is conveying my point, rather successfully. "Because you know him."

I let her think on it. I can see the wheels in her brain turning. Bonnie sits next to her, calm, already with a name sewn to her lips. She knows; _how how how_? Caroline's eyes light up with knowledge.

"No," she gasps. "No, no, no," she continues, more audibly. "You're not doing this. You're not dating Stefan Salvatore."

I let the silence fall between us.

"Do you hear me, Elena?" she asks authoritatively. "You can't date him. He's weird. His family is all whacked up." I flinch. How does she know about his family? Bonnie's eyes travel to Caroline, asking the same. _How come you know so much about the Salvatore family?_

Then I remember her mom's a town sheriff. When their dad started disappearing, they've probably reported it. Did they report his last disappearance as well? I try to will my cheeks not to blush, because I don't want Caroline mixing my shame of her knowing his secret before me with her made up shame of me dating him. I'm not ashamed of being with him. I'm not, and I could never be.

"He's a nobody," she continues. "He's a joke. He's dark. We joke about him murdering puppies for fun. He never speaks, he has no friends, he has all marks of a psychopath. And you're Elena Gilbert, you're a cheerleader, the whole town knows you, every guy in the school would kill to be with you. With your brains and your looks you could have anyone, and you choose Stefan Salvatore?" She waves a finger in front of my face, "No, I'm not letting you. You have a bright future in front of you, and I'm not letting you waste it on someone who doesn't deserve you."

My brain starts boiling with fury. Her words are like a poison my body has a tough time fighting, but it fights, it protects, and it boils.

"Deserve me? Is there a price on my head? How is he less deserving of me than any of those other guys you speak of?"

At first, she's taken back by my words. Well, actually, she's taken back by me saying anything at all. I usually don't defend myself, or stand up for myself, especially not against her. Her word is a law, not because she's right, but because we know we could never win a match against her, let alone a war.

But this is something I'm not letting go.

"Are you really asking me that question?" she bowels. "Do you even know him?"

"I do!" I raise my voice, my face getting red with anger. "And that's the point! I know him, you don't! The only thing you know about him are the rumors you've made up about him," I point my finger at her, "And the rumors you've heard about him. And guess what? That's all they are - rumors! He's not a serial killer. There are no bodies buried in his back yard. He doesn't murder puppies, especially not for fun. And that extra spicy rumor about him murdering his own parents? If you knew how his mom actually died, you would cover yourself with your own ears!" I can see her flinch at the last part, because that rumor has been uglier than all the other rumors circling around. But no one felt bad about it, because everyone knew it's not true, so they continued spreading it. Because it was, I don't know.. fun? "You want to know the scary truth? He's human. He plays video games and laughs at my jokes, even the ones no one else laughs to. Especially those. He reads comic books and drinks crazy amounts of orange juice. And do you know why he has no friends, Caroline? Because of you. Because of me. Because of everyone who ever took part in making him into a monster everyone believe he is. Because it's easier to shed all of your monstrosity onto someone else than to look yourself into the mirror. Because of us, he was afraid of making friends, because he knew he would mark that person for life."

She stays quiet for a while, but then, as if I haven't said anything at all, she proceeds. "And what, he thought _you_ can handle being ridiculed for being with him?"

I freeze, because her words sound a lot like a threat. Her words sound like she would actually be capable of making my life a living hell if I proceed dating him. And I didn't think that one through, because I didn't think it possible. That my friend would do that to me.

"Actually, no. He didn't want me telling you. I wanted to tell you. Because I don't care what other people think, I only care what you think, and I thought my friends would support me no matter what," I say, almost fearfully. "Please tell me that I thought right," my voice shakes.

Silence falls all around us, heavy and stuffy, choking all the life out of me. My eyes start filling with tears, out of fear, something I wasn't prepared for. I didn't think they would accept this lightly, but I didn't think we would come to here either - to the point where I'm afraid of losing them.

And in the next moment, I do, because Caroline stands up. "I'm sorry Elena, but you don't have my support, not in this. I can't support something that has a power to harm you, one way or another." And she walks away.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and when I open them, the first tear rolls down my cheek.

I look at Bonnie. "What, you won't leave?" I say with a snappy tone, which I instantly regret. With one friend gone, and one left, I don't have the luxury of being snappy.

"Do you want me to?" she asks, too calm. Irritatingly calm.

"No," I respond. "But I thought you would be angry with me for not telling you."

She frowns. "I would never be angry with you for dating anyone. Except maybe a married man who remembers the 80's," she tries to lighten the situation, but I'm in no mood for jokes.

"Yeah, I didn't think you would be. I thought you would be angry with me for keeping it a secret from you for this long."

She exhales. "Well, I am, a little. But I guess I understand you. If I were dating a Salvatore, I also wouldn't know how to tell people. And Caroline, she'll come around."

"Yeah," I say, even though I don't think she will. Not this time, not when it comes to this.

Bonnie reaches for a napkin and hands it to me. "Now," she smiles, "You're going to tell me everything about how the frick frack the two of you got together."

* * *

 ** _AN: Was Caroline's reaction surprising? Or did you expect it?_**

 ** _1\. No, Stefan and Elena have not done it yet. Them "doing it" is really not relevant for the story._**

 ** _2\. I said they're mortal, I've never said that they're human. Mortal doesn't equal human. For instance, Achilles was a Demigod, but he was a mortal, despite his mothers efforts._**

 _ **3\. Yes, Elena's dreams are memories of the lives her and Stefan shared, but the storyline is nowhere similar to that of the episode of TVD. It has more to do with reincarnation than with an alternate universe. The story is called Multiverse because of another reason.**_

 _ **4\. I'm sorry I couldn't update on Monday 24th, but I'm updating on Thursday 25th. Happy Birthday to you anon, may all of your wishes come true.**_


	8. Chapter 8

I'm sprawled across Stefan's bed, my head in his lap, his fingers tangled in my hair on a quest to calm me down.

"I can't believe her," I weep, inconsolable. I've been crying ever since I stepped a foot into his bedroom and told him what had happened at The Grill. If I continue like this, I'll drown us both. "I knew she wouldn't take it lightly. I knew she would make a bigger deal out of it than it actually is. I mean, she's Caroline, that's what she does!" I raise my voice, unintentionally. With all the yelling and choking back tears, I probably sound like a gorilla, while he stays quiet, caressing my head. "But I never thought she would ever walk out on me!"

No one actually knows Caroline. They know that she's a head cheerleader, they know who she's dating and out of some reason they also fear her. They know a lot of superficial things about her, and if someone asked them do they know her, they would say yes, despite the fact that she's a complete stranger to them. They don't know the first thing when it comes to Caroline Forbes. No one had seen her cry because her dad had called to say that he can't spend yet another weekend with her. No one knows she's able to fit 12 marshmallows into her mouth. No one had seen her cry from laughter at those cheesy comedies. No one knows how nice and kind and generous she can be.

But I do. I've seen her do and be all of those things and much, much more. Which is why a possibility of her walking out on me seemed ridiculous when I thought of it. I laughed at it, discarding it instantly. I didn't even want to entertain it, because I've written it off as impossible.

"And Bonnie?" he asks, surprising me, since this is the first time he said anything since asking _'what's wrong?'_ after seeing me standing teary eyed in front of his bedroom door.

"She stayed," I say. She asked questions, she smiled as I swooned over Stefan, and she laughed at my crazy descriptions of how I feel about him. I don't doubt that she's happy for me, but I still think that she has a secret of her own, which is why she had accepted mine so lightly. If all of her recent words haven't been made out of lies, her attitude to my secret would probably be as stormy as Caroline's was.

"You can say it," I say, my teary voice dispersing into air. " _I told you so._ You can say it." No, my voice is nowhere near teary anymore, it's closer to being resentful.

His fingers stop traveling through my hair, and I bite my lower lip. Not out of habit, but out of guilt.

"I'm not going to do that," he takes me by the shoulders and gently moves me from his lap onto the bed. At first I think that he's angry at me, at my words, but then I notice a soft smile playing at his lips. "But I am going to make you some hot chocolate, and then we're going to watch Iron Man. The one where he's not wearing a shirt."

I stare at him, amazed by how understanding he is. How calm. How wonderful. I'm amazed by him and how many of my punches he can take without even flinching. I should stop throwing punches and baring my teeth at him out of irrational fear, because that's the last thing he deserves. I don't want to be that kind of a person, who takes their frustration out on other people.

He makes me hot chocolate and drowns dozen tiny marshmallows in it. He turns the movie on, sits on the bed with his back against the wall, and I scoot close to his body, as close as I can, letting my head fall in the crook of his neck. I drink my hot chocolate too fast, faster than I should have. I'm relaxed. I'm sleepy. My eyelids are heavy. His room is dark, there are curtains pulled over his windows for a better mood, and the light of his screen is blindingly bright.

I make a mistake.

I fall asleep in his arms.

* * *

 ** _July 1791, French Court, French Revolution_**

 _The Queen is in her chambers, crying. Again. She knows that the end is near and she's crying for her wasted youth and the life she could have had if she wasn't born into this one. She would never allow this to happen several years ago, for the whole Court to hear her wails, but she simply doesn't have it within her to care anymore. It doesn't matter what people think of her, not after she's been insulted by simple peasants, and spat on. It doesn't matter who hears her, either, because the Court has transformed from a dream castle to the fortress of solitude._

 _It's been almost a month since our last attempt at escape. Our only successful attempt at escape. The King ruined most of them, changing his mind the last minute, and the Queen never wanted to leave without him. To other members of the Court this must have been strange, because it's no secret that their marriage is not the most ideal one, since both of them took enough freedom to exchange several lovers during the years. Some even say that the Dauphin of France is not the King's legitimate son, but someones bastard, even though the King stays deaf to such ugly rumors._

 _But it's not strange to me, since I've seen the love that they share, but there's a drift between them created by an insuperable age gap - the King often can't understand the Queen's childish whims, while the Queen still so often wants to play games. But she depends on him as much as her children depend on her._

 _We've been at Varennes for a week before they came for us to escort us back to Paris. I, of course, only went because of the children, since they're accustomed to me by now, especially at the times of panic. The King lost all popularity after that, while the Queen didn't have much popularity to begin with, not since the whole 'let them eat cake' incident. I remember the moment she uttered those words, I remember it all - from surprised and horrified gasps, to her utterly confused face. What does she know? She's the girl who grew up under a glass bell, always fed by most famous European chefs, clothed in finest materials, taught by well educated people. She's been raised to become this person, the Queen, like a manufactured marionette, the strings carefully and properly sewn onto her body. When she arrived to the Court, when she married the King, she was still a child, and any child would rather pick cake than bread. She had no sense of the drift between the prices of the bread and the cake, because her bread had always been soft and sweet, just like her cake was. She was educated in many things, but politics wasn't one of them, because it's rough business, and ladies are meant to be gentle. And she was gentle when she proposed for peasants to eat cake, because she was asked to do a man's job, a job she knows nothing about. She handled those words in the same manner in which she would handle a gun - clumsy, and without much thinking. And that's the problem - women are raised to stay quiet and look pretty, but they're meant to rule._

 _After an hour of standing guard in front of her chambers, I leave, because I get tired of hearing her weep. She's going to fall asleep in her own tears soon enough, anyway. She doesn't need me anymore, and neither do the children, and that's how I know that the end is near._

 _The Court was once the most popular and wanted place to be, and now it's almost deserted. It holds no more guests, everyone had escaped this hellish fortress made out of tears and screams, except for the servants and the guards, and even their numbers are minimal. The guard in front of the Queen's chambers seemed so bored with his task that he had barely noticed me standing there for almost an hour, which made me wonder - if there was any real danger, how quick would be his reaction? The rulers depend on the loyalty of their subjects - without them, they're just vulnerable, exposed meat sacks dressed in nice clothes._

 _I walk down the empty, barely lit hallways, but when I take a turn towards the wing that holds my own chambers, I bump into a solid, hard figure. I instantly put my hands in front of my body for defense, while my eyes travel to a, I slowly realize, familiar face._

 _"Monsieur Charon," I gasp, releasing all the fear that has gathered in my lungs, finally able to breathe normally. Once the fear escapes me, my face adapts an annoyed expression, and I start equating the wrinkles on my dress created by the force of our bump._

 _He stands in front of me, his arms stretched by his sides in a true solider manner, his fingers ready to crawl around the handle of his firearm at any given moment. His posture is hard, strict, the muscles of his upper body always tight, his shoulders never slumping. He's like a statue._

 _But his face is as gentle at the face of a young boy, his eyes shimmering with wonder and excitement, his cheeks pink, his lips stretched into a mischievous smile._

 _"There's no need for formalities," he says, and I can see the corners of his eyes wandering around, looking for intruders, but even if there were any I very much doubt that he would be able to see them in this dark. "Madame Adrienne."_

 _My cheeks flush, but not because he had called me Madame, but because he had used my given name. We usually don't allow ourselves such freedom in public._

 _"My apologies, Monsieur Gabriel," I say flirtatiously, my annoyance slipping away. I can never stay angry with him for too long, no matter how many silly things he says and does. I look away from him so I don't produce a shy laugh and attract someones attention._

 _I came to the Court several years ago, when I was just a 15 year old girl. My brothers wife passed away in illness, leaving him alone with three children to feed and close to no money. Our parents had welcomed him and his children into our home, but with four more mouths to feed, both room and money in our house became too tight for seven people. So my parents sent me to work at Court, where they thought I would be warmer and safer and happier than I was at home, with some hope that I will find a good man to marry there. But being the Queen's maid and keeper of her secrets turned out to be a lonely and isolated job._

 _When things started going downhill, everything turned upside down, which is how I met Gabriel. He's the one who had helped me hide the children during one of the attacks on the castle, while the Queen was under the protection of other guards. I got terribly hurt while trying to protect the little Dauphin, a block fell on my left leg and broke my bone in two places, bruising my skin, making it all mushy. Gabriel insisted that I have proper medical attention - the injury did, after all, come from me trying to protect the prince. Gabriel came to my chambers everyday to check up on me since I couldn't leave my bed because of the state of my leg. In those private moments we had shared throughout several lovely weeks, Gabriel made me feel as if my heart is going to burst out of my chest because of laughing too much, too hard, too sincere. Gabriel made me blush, Gabriel made me smile, and Gabriel confessed his love to me in the most untimely matter and all I could think of was 'oh, is this what love is?'. I didn't know what love is, or how it's supposed to look like. If my parents ever loved each other, they forgot all about it after I came into this world, and people at the Court are not to be trusted with their ideas of love. Love was as strange to me as fine jewels. So I didn't respond to his confession - he seemed disappointed, picked the leftovers of his male pride and walked away from me. And as I watched him leave, I felt my heart sink deeper into my chest._

 _When he told me he's going to battle I said my goodbyes to him with my head held high and wished him luck, but on the night of his departure I cried like our Queen does now, terrified of never seeing him again, which is when I've realized - oh, yes, this must be love. Because it hurts, and I've heard several people saying that nothing can hurt you more than the thing that makes you happy._

 _So when he came back, as gallant as always, I kissed him on the lips, even though I had no idea what I'm doing. I've never kissed a boy before. He had kissed me back, and he did know what he's doing, meaning he had kissed other women before me, which filled me with uncontrollable rage and jealousy. But I forgot all about it as soon as he wrapped his arms around me, raised me from the floor and kissed me deeper than I thought possible._

 _When he found out I would be leaving with the Royal family on their attempt to escape the castle, he paled. He proposed we run away, but where would we run? Where would we go? Who would we be?_

 _The Queen never had a say in how she wants her life to be, and coming to the Court I lost that right as well, and so did Gabriel. The Queen's maid and the soldier in the King's army didn't have the luxury of falling in love and living happily ever after either. We're the loyal subjects of our rulers and their lives should be more important to us than our own._

 _But when he proposed we run away, there was a moment when I allowed myself to think about it, dream about it, imagine it - which is how I knew I would rather be his refugee, than a loyal subject of the Royal family. But I was afraid of being both, because both meant danger. I knew that, if it came down to it, I would be nothing more than a walking human shield for the Queen._

 _"I don't mean to cross my line," he takes a step forward, his body now closer to mine, evidently more relaxed. "But I don't particularly like how we've left things between us the last time we've talked."_

 _When he utters those words, I almost laugh into his face, because of how silly they sound, because of how preposterous they are. I know, deep down, that our lives are not fair. I've always known that, always consoling myself with the thought that no one's life is fair. We live in an unfair, unjust world. If we lived in a perfect world we wouldn't have to hide in dark, wet hallways, we wouldn't have to confess our love in whispers, and we wouldn't have to be afraid of people knowing that we're selfish creatures who demand happiness. If we lived in a just world I would wear his ring around my finger and I would call my bed our bed and our children would sleep next door to us. If the era we live in was fair, I would live with his love growing around my rib cage instead of shooing it away, because someone might see, someone might know, I might choke on our secrets and reveal them to those who don't have our best interest at heart. But we live in a world where I can go a month without speaking to the man that I love, because I have to. Because my life is not about me. Because I was made to serve those far more superior than me._

 _I hear footsteps in the distance and everything around me falters - my fake calmness alongside my excitement from being so close to him._

 _"We can't talk about that here," I warn him, yanking his hand, violently squeezing my fingers around his wrist. "Come with me," I pull him from his place of standing which wouldn't be possible if I didn't have an element of surprise on my side._

 _He follows me without question, but when he sees where we're headed his body fills up with reluctance. When I pull him inside of my room, he doesn't complain, though._

 _I don't want to make this situation more uncomfortable than it already is - him in my room with no good reason or excuse - so I cut right to the chase. "I don't like how we've left things between us, either," I exhale those words in one breath._

 _Before our final, and successful escape, we had a horrible fight. He had accused me of loving the Queen more than I love us, and in a fit of anger I've called him a word my mother calls my father on the rare occasions he comes home smelling of poison. When they brought us back he was away from the Court, and from Paris, so we've met only a week ago, and we've barely spoken a word. He would look at me with eyes full of guilt and regret, and I would shyly look away, afraid that he was right. That my sense of duty outgrew any other sense I have of myself as a separate being whose existence doesn't depend on the Queen I serve._

 _"You're loyal to your Queen, I can understand that," he spits those words like they're poison killing him from the inside._

 _"And you're not loyal to your King?" I challenge him._

 _"I'm loyal to you!"_

 _His words make me freeze in place. I'm flattered, but I'm also afraid of having such power over someone, power that transcends every and any obligation and duty he might have towards those he serves. I'm afraid of not being able to retort in the same measure._

 _"We can't run away. My family is counting on me to send them money every month," I say, trying not to think about the fact that if the Royal family falls, there won't be any money to send. What then? Do I serve the strangers who come after them? Am I expected to be loyal to the successors who have no right to the throne? Or do they kill me, alongside the Queen, because my mind is a cage filled with her secrets? I doubt anyone would be interested in the secrets she confides in me._

 _"I know," he bows his head, looking at the ground. "I know. But are you alright?"_

 _"What do you mean?" I ask, confused by his question._

 _"When they came for you to Varennes, did they harm you?"_

 _I shake my head. "No."_

 _It was unpleasant, downgrading, uncomfortable. But it wasn't harmful.. at least not physically. I've seen my father treat my mother like that one time too many._

 _"The King is slowly losing all of his supporters. It's only a matter of time before his enemies gather together and make an alliance to take him down."_

 _I slap my palm over my mouth in order not to scream. If the King goes down, so does the Queen._

 _He makes several steps towards me, moving decisively until he reaches me and puts his hands on my shoulders, squeezing them, his fingertips falling deep into my flesh. "We cannot protect them from themselves. I can point firearms at their enemies, and you can hide their children in secret passageways, but we cannot protect them from their own decisions. We tailor our own lives."_

 _He's wrong. The Queen never chose this life for herself, she was born into it. She had told me many times that, if she could choose, she wouldn't choose this life for herself, nor would she choose it for her children._

 _Still, I don't contradict him, but let my head fall onto his chest._

 _He presses his lips against the top of my head and, in that moment, the future is clear._

* * *

"Elena! Elena!" Stefan yelling my name yanks me out of my dream. I can feel myself falling back into my body, stretching myself to fill my meat suit from the bottom to the top. My skin is elastic and it wraps around me like a cage I know I'm safe in, a cage in which I belong.

When I open my eyes, my head is still on the top of his chest, in the same position in which I fell asleep. His hand is on my shoulder, squeezing at my bones, trying to shake me awake.

"I'm up!" I say hoarsely, unable to recognize my own voice. He stops shaking me, for which I'm thankful, because his fingers digging into my flesh left an unpleasant sensation deep inside of my bones.

I've often fantasized about waking up next to Stefan. Those day dreams took my breath away in a completely different way than my actual dreams do, which were nothing like this.

"Jesus, Elena," he says, his voice high pitched. "What in the world were you dreaming of?"

At that question, I freeze. My breath catches in my throat, and my mind starts screaming at me - _he knows, he knows, he knows!_

"I didn't even know you speak French!"

I don't speak French. I know some words, I can make sentences out of them, but simple ones. I know how to ask for directions, I know how to greet people and say my goodbyes and, of course, I know how to ask for food. But I don't speak French fluently.

I raise my head from his chest and pull my body into a sitting position before looking at him. When our eyes meet, he flinches, his eyes widening as he tries to scoot away from me. He's staring at me like I'm some kind of a stranger, like there's someone else looking at him through my eyes.

"Y-Your eyes," he swallows.

I blink, shocked by how afraid he sounds, how afraid he seems.. of me. Shocked by how much his weariness hurts me. "My eyes?" I ask, confused.

He squints at me, then shakes his head, as if none of this is real. As if he's going to wake up any second now. "Your eyes seemed the color of a sunset.."

I cock my eyebrow at him. "Well, that's awfully romantic," I try to lighten the mood.

"I'm serious," the look in his eyes is hard, determined and.. angry? As if I betrayed him somehow.

I don't know what to say to that. My eyes adapting the color of sunset is as possible as me speaking French fluently. Zero to none.

"Okay, I have to confess something," I say, putting my arms around my body defensively, and I guess he stops being afraid of me because his muscles relax and he scoots back closer to me. "I've been having these dreams. They started since we came back from camp," I close my eyes shut, gently sucking my lower lip in. "Please promise me you won't get freaked out by what I'm about to say, promise me you won't think I'm crazy.."

He takes my hand in his, raises it from the mattress and kisses my white, bony knuckles. "I can't promise you that. But I can promise you that no matter what I think, I won't leave you. Is that okay?"

I smile, his words, his promise, warming me up from the inside, and I nod. "I dream of these people, and I think they're us. _Us_ before we were _us_ now. Us in some other life, some past life, some life we have lived a long time ago, or several decades ago. It depends on the dream. The people don't look like us. Sometimes they resemble us, sometimes they bear our last names, and then sometimes they look nothing like us. Sometimes they're from Europe. Sometimes they're ordinary people, and then at other times they're Kings and Queens," I keep looking down at the crumbled sheet of his bed, afraid to look at him, afraid of his expression, his reaction.

But when he speaks, his voice raises my looks and our eyes lock in midair. "And why do you think they're us?"

"I can feel it, I can feel myself being trapped in some other body.. no, trapped is the wrong word, because in that moment I feel comfortable in that particular body.. but, while I'm dreaming, I often consciously ask myself why do I look like that? I often feel like I'm not dreaming at all, but watching.. a memory? I don't know. And you.. it may sound silly, but you always smile the same, with that half smile of yours."

He nods, the information sinking into his brain comfortably, and I can see the wheels in his mind turning. He's trying to understand it. "Do you think those dreams might be a reflection of your feelings? You felt anxiety and stress about hiding our relationship so maybe, in your mind, you created scenarios in which we didn't have to hide."

"But we always had to hide because of some reason. Once you were a King and I was your mistress, once my father didn't approve of you.." I say. I never actually realized this until he pointed it out. Our relationship is never easy, it's never.. socially acceptable. We always have to hide from other people or ask for their permission to be together, in the public. Just like we have to do now, in the present day.

"And our families, are they always the same?" he asks curiously.

"Well, I rarely see your family.." I admit, and he flinches at that, because it's so close to reality. "But mine always changes. And my parents are never.. _my parents._ "

"Hmm," he says. "Interesting." He's not afraid, he's intrigued. Even if he thinks I'm crazy, he's intrigued. "Who did you dream of this time?"

"Umm, you were a solider in French revolution, and I was the Queens servant."

"That explains you talking in French! Was Marie Antoinette actually evil?"

"No!" I say defensively. "She was childish, and stubborn, but quite nice."

He nods, taking it all in. I want to tell him I don't actually speak French but, out of some reason, I don't.

"You're okay with this? With your girlfriend being crazy pants?"

He shrugs. "Crazy is hot, until you try to stab me with a knife because I ate your ice cream. You won't do that, will you?"

"I might," I wink at him. "Not because I'm crazy, but because taking someone else's food is rude."

He raises his eyebrow at me. "And stabbing someone isn't?"

"Stabbing someone is perfectly excusable if they steal your ice cream. So, you find the whole thing intriguing?"

"Yes," he nods.

"But you don't believe me?"

He stays quiet, pondering on that question. "I believe that you believe it, and I believe in you.." he says, but he knows, as well as I do, that that's not the same. "This conversation reminded me that I have some ice cream in the fridge. You want?"

"Do you really have to ask?" I won't even ask which flavor. That's how much I love ice cream.

He smiles at me and lets go of my hand. He turns his back to me, which is when I notice something peeking out of his shirt. Something white and fluffy.. something like a tip of a big, white wing.

I inhale sharply, but decide to reach for it. I prop myself on my knees and point my index finger at it, the distance between the tip of my finger and the tip of the wing closing.

But when I reach it, the only thing I touch is air.

There's no wing there.

* * *

 _AN:_

 _1\. No, I don't live in the USA. European here! ;)_

 _2\. Sometimes the most obvious answers are the right answers. Don't complicate it too much, the story is quite simple ;)_


	9. Chapter 9

_**November 23, 2015**_

 _Dear diary,_

 _I ended up getting an A on that Chemistry exam. I've heard Caroline murmuring behind me, either into her own beard or into Bonnie's ear, that I should put all of that extensive Chemistry knowledge into discovering what reactions occurred in my brain that made me think that dating Stefan Salvatore would be a good idea. If she had said it to Bonnie, Bonnie had no to reaction to it. I've prayed no one had heard her, since Bonnie told he she hasn't said a word to anyone. Yet. I could face the entire school on this matter with the support of my friends, but with only half of the army I don't feel as strong and secure in my decision as I did when it was charged to one hundred percent._

 _I, on the other hand, think that I should put my extensive Chemistry knowledge into finding out why the hell am I seeing white feathers, not only floating in my neighbors bushes, but on my boyfriends back as well. But seeing them on his back, the tip of the wing protruding from his shirt, finally made me realize what they remind me of. Stefan is heavenly, some might even describe him as glorious, and he does have angelic features, but thinking about him in the frame of biblical creature is a bit too much._

 _My mind can stretch so far and so thin to accept the possibility of rebirth or reincarnation or whatever people call it, but it's impossible for me to accept something so inhumane. Something so out of this world. Those things belong in dystopian novels and movies, not in the real word, and not in my life. I'm a simple girl, I live in Mystic Falls, which is a fairly simple town, and I've always lead a simple life. I want to go to college, I want to find a job, I want to start a family of my own. I don't expect greatness from life, I want to leave my mark on the world, but I don't expect it to appear in History books fifty years from now. What I expect is simplicity, what I expect is happiness and love in its purest form - that has always been enough for me._

 _But lately I feel like, maybe, that's not what's expected from me, or meant for me. Lately, I feel like I'm meant for something more. Like I am more._

 _And that scares me._

 _I don't want to be more. I want to be enough._

 _I want to not be scared of my own existence._

* * *

"Stefan," I groan into his mouth. His name rolling off of my lips sounds like what happiness would look like if it had a physical form. "I really have to go now," my words collide with the soft skin in the corner of his lips.

At the sound of that, his hold on me tightens, and he squeezes me, pulling my body closer to his.

"What an ugly thing to say," he says each word between one of the six butterfly kisses he plants on my lips. "What an ugly though to bare," he makes a rhyme, which throws both of us into fits of ticklish giggles.

I have wanted him to stop kissing me so I can finally wiggle out of his arms and run into my house, fall into my bed and sleep for a week. But now that he had actually stopped, I almost start begging him for more. To kiss me again, one more time, maybe twice. Twice sounds better.

I almost beg him to kiss me endlessly, eternally, until the end of time. And beyond.

"I know," I exhale. I nuzzle my nose against his.

I hate this part, where we have to say goodbye. Where I have to detach myself from him, where I have to continue existing in time and space without him by my side. Sometimes, I wish I could materialize into air when he's not next to me. And I don't mean that in that _I-would-die-without-him_ sappy, immature, teenage girl kind of way.. I mean it in a way in which you get so accustomed to being with someone that you forget what you did with your hands before you were holding theirs.

Which is funny, because I've been doing okay for the past 17 years without him. I knew what to do with my hands, they had their purpose.

Yes, I've been doing okay, but with him, I'm doing splendid. I'm discovering a whole new purpose of my hands. I never knew they could _touch, squeeze, hold_ like this.

Humans are not made for empty spaces, or empty hearts. We have to fill ourselves with knowledge and emotion everywhere we go, and we have to fill ourselves with other humans as well. We're not self sufficient, we depend on the existence of other people - people who are like us, people who are nothing like us.

"We will see each other tomorrow, though," I try to console us both. "Well, today, since it's past midnight," I point out with a smile on my face.

I throw my arms around his neck and give him one last kiss. Our lips collide awkwardly, like when you're trying to kiss a person who's already intent on kissing you, their lips taking an entirely different approach from yours. Thankfully, we get a hang of it pretty quickly.

His fingertips sneak under the hem of my shirt and graze my skin, making me shiver. The goosebumps appear under my skin.

"I'm going to miss you," he says as I detach myself from him. I make a first step, because if I don't, we're going to end up standing in front of my house like this until morning.

When I pull myself completely away from him, my body starts aching for him as it would ache for some essential part of me, like an arm or a leg.

"Drive safely," is all I say because I know that if I say anything else to that, I'm going to fall right back into his arms.

I can't wait until I can kiss him in the daylight, in public, for everyone to see. I can't wait for the darkness to stop being our safe place, like we're monsters under the bed who can't be seen during the day.

I can't wait to find out how his lips taste bathed in sunlight in the middle of the town square.

He takes his helmet and fastens it around his head. "I will," he says before straddling his bike.

I kiss my palm and blow one more kiss his way as he drives away from me. I watch him until he disappeared behind the curve of the other street, where my eyes can't reach. Which is when I run inside.

I go straight for the stairs leading to my bedroom, but a familiar voice half yelling, half whispering my name puts me to a halt. I freeze in place, and so does the blood in my veins.

I turn around and follow the direction in which my mothers voice came from, praying that she hadn't seen me with a boy. Praying that she hadn't seen me riding on a motorcycle. With a boy. Whom I kiss. Who kisses me back.

I step into the kitchen, where I can see the outline of her shape in the dark, only because she's standing near the window, her body covered in silk and moonlight.

"What are you doing in the dark?" I try to find the light switch on the wall, but my fingers can't seem to find anything except the vast space of our kitchen tiles. You would think that by now I know where the switch is by memory.

"I couldn't sleep," her voice shakes as she speaks. "So I came downstairs to make myself tea."

I finally find the switch, and when I press it, our kitchen lights outshine the moon. My mother wears a serious, stoic expression, but somewhere deep inside her facial lines I recognize the sadness and pain she's trying to hide from either me, or herself.

"That was fifteen minutes ago," her voice sounds harsh, but quivery. My mother is a collection of paradoxes right about now. "You know, you have school tomorrow," she feels the need to point out, even though she knows I'm very well aware of that.

"I know," I gulp, ignorant to how to react to this version of my mother seeing as I've never met her before.

"You've never had a curfew, because there was never a need for one. You were always a responsible child," her voice becomes more harsh than quivery, an equivalent to a light slap on the cheek.

"It's not that late," a need to defend myself overwhelms me, and my voice rises like a phoenix inside of my mouth. I can feel the ashes on the insides of my cheeks. "When I go to movies with Bonnie and Caroline, I don't come home sooner than this."

She fixes her look on me, squinting, as if she has an _X-ray_ vision for my thoughts. "Well, you weren't with Bonnie and Caroline tonight, were you?" she snaps.

All my prayers go to waste. She had seen me riding on a motorcycle with my arms pressed around my secret. She had seen me kiss it until it materialized in front of her eyes in the shape of a teenage boy.

I clench my jaw. "No, I wasn't."

"You said that you're going to the library." She sounds angry. Is this how mothers of the children who do wrong sound like?

"And I did," I look down, ashamed of.. conveniently avoiding the truth. Saying half truth, half lies. Finishing my sentences inside of my mouth instead of out loud. "I just didn't stay there the entire time."

Silence falls between us, gross, heavy silence, growing continuously until it steals all of our air.

"Who is he?"

I look up at her. I think about lying. I could make a good, convincing lie. A boy I've been seeing. Someone I have fun with. A waste of time. Guilty pleasure.

But I don't want him to be a lie, not anymore, and especially not to my mother.

"My boyfriend," I say, and her cheekbones twitch as many times as there are letters in the word boyfriend. "His name is Stefan."

"Why didn't you tell us?" she sounds angry, and she sounds hurt, which means that she's not displeased by the fact that I have a boyfriend. She's displeased by the fact that I haven't mentioned him to her.

"Because he was supposed to stay a secret," I say honestly.

"Why?" the lines of her face go up, squeezing, pinching her eyes in a confused matter.

"Because he's not the most popular person in school," I try to explain to her something she can't even begin to understand.

"Why? Is he dangerous?" she has so many _why's_ stored inside of her mouth, and I'm too tired to answer them all. But then I remember Stefan and my eyes shoot wide open.

"No!" I raise my voice, because I don't want that word stuck in her head next to his image. I don't want to have to convince her that he's not torturing puppies or burying bodies in his back yard. I don't want these thoughts residing in her mind. My mother has always been susceptible to rumors, they could always find a safe place to stay behind her teeth, but never a home. "He's a sacrificial lamb."

She starts shaking her head, either to clear it or to get rid of my confusing words. "You're making no sense."

"Mom, every school needs a sacrificial lamb! Someone who will stand idly by while the popular kids make rumors about them until other kids start believing them and then join in!" I say, frustrated by her ignorance. Angry because I have to remind myself of my failures, angry for not putting a stop to it sooner, angry at myself for being friends with people who had hurt him more than he would care to admit.

"But why do they do that?" she asks, as if she's from another planet where cruelty and hatred do not exist. As if she was never a 17 year old girl in high school. "And why does he let them?"

"They do it because it gives them power. To make sure they never end up in his position. And he lets them because he doesn't care."

After those words leave my mouth, she stays quiet for a while, pondering on them.

When she speaks up again, the tone of her voice changes alongside her expression. It becomes warmer, but more concerned. "Were you ever mean to him?" she asks, her voice quivering in a different way, quiver born out of fear that she had raised a daughter capable of hurting someone in that matter.

"No," I say calmly, because I find her question justified. "But I didn't do anything to stop it either."

She either hasn't heard anything after the word _no_ , or she pretends that she hasn't, because she jumps straight to another question. "But you know someone who did?"

"Yes," I admit. "And that's why he had to stay a secret."

Her entire composure, alongside her expression, falters, and she hurries towards me. She throws her arms around my shoulders and pulls me into a hug.

"Oh, my sweet baby girl," she whispers, caressing my hair.

I didn't even realize how much I needed this until she had done it. My mothers support. For Stefan to stop being invisible to her.

I bury my face in the crook of her shoulder, and I revel in this moment.

* * *

Mom texted me to come to The Grill as soon as the school is over. They probably need another pair of hands.

If it were any other day I'd probably groan or complain or try to see if there's any way to get out of it, but after a day of watching Caroline study Stefan like he's a lab animal, and trying to avoid her look, I couldn't wait to get out of that place. The way she kept staring at me crept me out - like she's trying to burn his skin off with her look to peek under it, out of sheer curiosity. Or boredom.

When I walk into the restaurant, there's no one but two businessman giving an evil eye to the family with three screaming children seated not so far away from them. So my parents probably don't need me to help out, and all of a sudden my mothers text fills my bones with fear.

I frown, because my father is usually very careful about placing the businessmen from every other group of people. He even has a special corner for them, which is now full of noise and.. wait, is that kid drinking vinegar?

"Daisy, I know you're new here, and this is partly my fault for not telling you sooner," I hear my father lecture someone whom I can't see behind his frame. "But we have a seating schedule. You can't set people who are here for a business meeting next to a family with children."

When I come closer to the counter, I see a small girl, with her head bowed down in shame, standing in front of my father. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Gilbert," she says with a teary voice. "I made a mistake. I wasn't thinking. I swear it won't happen again." She's staring at her hands, playing with her intertwined fingers.

My father is not a scary man, and I've never seen anyone this afraid of him.

"It's okay," he tries to console her. He's probably as confused as I am. His tone of voice isn't even sharp, everyone always say he has a voice perfect for a professor. "Like I said, it is partly my fault, I should have told you."

"Dad?" I decide to intervene before he goes ahead and makes her cry by being too nice to her.

He twirls on his heel in my direction and a smile beams up on his face as soon as his eyes fall on me. "Elena!" he exclaims my name, as if he's surprised to see me here.

"Is everything alright?" I ask, sneaking a peek at the girl standing behind him who had dared to raise her head a little at the sound of my voice.

"Oh, yes!" his smile widens, the skin around his lips threatening to crack. "Darling, meet our new waitress. Daisy," he presses his palm against my back and pushes me forward. "This is my daughter, Elena."

I stretch my hand towards her and when she raises her head, I almost gasp. She's beautiful - beautiful in a way people shouldn't be. _Get-away-from-my-boyfriend_ kind of beautiful. She's tiny, tiny like a fairy, and her skin is as fair as snow, but her hair is as dark as coal. She has a set of huge, piercingly blue eyes, nose as small as a button, and her lips are so tiny that they almost seem invisible.

But I guess that, what makes her truly beautiful, is that she has no freaking idea how beautiful she really is. She holds herself as if she just crawled out of a cave and can't get accustomed to the sun.

"Hello, I'm Elena," I say, still in awe.

My politeness seems to delight her, because she pulls her small, but full lips, into a smile. "Hello, I'm Daisy," she takes my hand and shakes it lightly.

When she smiles her entire face becomes brighter, like she shines from within, but a storm breaks in her eyes like all hell broke lose somewhere inside her mind.

"Your mother needs us in the back," he says, trying to tell me that it's time to go.

"Right," I nod, allowing him to lead me to the back room. "Dad, what happened to Millie?" I whisper in case Daisy can still hear us.

His hands are still on my shoulders, his fingertips hovering above my collar bones. "Your mother and I decided that she's not the best asset to The Grill."

I grin. Smart decision.

When we enter the back room, I notice my mother sitting by the desk, filling out some forms.

"Oh," she gasps once she hears the doors opening and sees us coming in, "You're here! Wonderful!"

She jumps to her feet, a playful smile dancing on her lips.

"You call, I come.." my father lets go of me and moves to stand by my mothers side. "What's going on?" I look at them, my eyes continuously moving from my mother to my father.

"Well, me and your father have been talking - "

"She was talking, I was listening," my father interrupts her in the middle of the sentence to make that clear. She clears her throat with a cough. I shift my weight from one leg to another.

"I've told him that you have a boyfriend."

My cheeks flush. My father knows that I have a boyfriend. A new feeling. Weird feeling. Discomfort stirs inside of me.

"And we want you to invite him over for dinner."

Oh for the love of..

* * *

 _AN:_

 _1\. Stefan is not lying to Elena._


	10. Chapter 10

"My parents have officially gone insane!" I yell into the phone, my free palm plastered all over my forehead.

"Elena, I found out your parents are insane, like, ten years ago when they used to make us mushed banana spread on ray bread and call it a snack," Bonnie, on the other side of the line, agrees with my statement. If I were talking to anyone else, they would probably lecture me on the proper phone etiquette. When someone greets you, you greet them right back, you don't start yelling about your parents mental state. But Bonnie knows my ways, and she knows they're nowhere similar to the ways of other people. "That was off the record, though. What made it official?" she inquires.

"Well, I told you my mom found out about Stefan, right?" I try to keep my voice low so he doesn't hear me. He, of course, knows my parents know about him, but he doesn't have to know I'm freaking out over it to my friends.

"Yes, you may have mentioned it several million times," she groans. I guess I have gone overboard with retelling her the story.

"She told my dad," I say pointedly, trying to stress out what a big deal that is for me. "It's weird having my dad know that I have a boyfriend."

"I think your dad has probably already made peace with the fact that his 17 year old daughter is interested in boys."

"He had known that ever since he had seen me drooling over Justin Timberlake, but the idea of me liking a boy and the reality of me dating one are two completely different things," I try to explain. I shouldn't have to, she has met my dad. "I mean, this is the man who cried when he realized I know how to tie my own shoelaces!"

She stays quiet for a while. I can hear her chewing on her lower lip over the phone. "That is true," she gives in.

Now that I've won my battle, I continue with the story. "Anyway, they want to have him over for dinner," I exhale, like I can't imagine anything more dreadful than that. "Tonight."

"No way!" she exclaims, the tone of her voice more lively than before.

"Way!" I confirm.

"Okay, but, while that might be awkward, it's still in the lines of sanity," she argues.

"Yes, it is. But then, when I woke up this morning, my mother was already battering and mixing and baking! Our house smells like Christmas, Thanksgiving and Halloween all rolled into one! When I came downstairs, she asked me is there anything he doesn't eat, and when I said I don't think so, she made me call him to make sure!" I complain, not blowing this out of proportion one bit. I wish I was.

On the other line, a roaring laughter rises in Bonnie's throat.

"Bonnie, this is not funny!" I scold her.

"I'm sorry!" she snorts. "But it's a little funny," the words come out of her mouth in the form of a laughter. "Is she making her famous pumpkin pie?"

"I have no idea. I ran away out of fear that she will ask me to put an apron on and bake a cake on the burned work of Bronte sisters."

"Wait, you're not at home? Where are you?" she asks, curiosity dripping down her voice.

I stay so silent that I can literally hear crickets in the background. I basically stop breathing.

"You're at his place, aren't you?"

I don't say anything to that because, yeah, I am. I am at his place. It's my sanctuary. My safe haven. Place I can run off to when things get too messed up in the real world.

"Are you on his bed?" she asks, her voice daring.

"No!" I exclaim, even though I am. I'm laying on his bed, on my back, with my waving legs in the air.

"Did you do it?" she asks quietly, her voice descending into a whisper.

I bring my brows closer together and crease my forehead out of confusion. "Do what exactly?"

I can basically hear her rolling her eyes. "Did you have sex?" she says the word _sex_ less loudly, but more sharply than the other words in the sentence.

"What?" I ask, almost offended by that question. Not because I'm little miss chaste and pure, but because I would like to think that if I had sex, I would tell my best friend about it. But then again, I don't have a best track record when it comes to sharing events from my life that involve Stefan with my friends. "No!"

"But you're thinking about it, aren't you?" she challenges me.

I pull my lips into a long, thin line, still managing to exhale in the process. "Maybe."

She makes a sweet _ooooh_ sound on the phone, but before I manage to say anything in return, Stefan walks into the room.

"Okay, how about this one?" he asks exasperatedly, slowly walking into the room with his shoulders slumped. In this moment, he seems too small for his body.

"Oh, no, you can't wear that one," I shake my head. I make a mental note that he looks damn fine in it, though.

"Why not?" he moans, and I half expect him to stomp his foot against the floor like an irritated child.

"Because you're going to blend in with our dining room wall!" I argue. "Try the green one."

He frowns. "I don't have a green button down."

"No, but you do have that green sweater thingy," I raise my finger in the air victoriously.

He sighs, but starts moving towards his dresser out of which he produces a green sweater. He heads back towards the bathroom to change.

"Thank you!" I yell after him.

Bonnie fakes a cough on the other side of the line, just to make sure I didn't forget about her still being there.

"Well, that was weird," she says, sounding completely overwhelmed.

"What was?" I furrow my brows, rolling onto my stomach. People think that laying around and being lazy is easy, but let me tell you, it's not - the back pain, holding your pee in, all very difficult things to do.

"I don't know," she exhales. "You. Him. You two together. I didn't really know how his voice sounds like. I think this is the first time I've heard him say more than one word. And you're so familiar.. You're my best friend. I just can't put the two of you together. I have all the _how's_ , but not the _why's_."

I stay quiet for a while, thinking of the best way to approach this subject. "I think I, at first, wanted it because I knew we aren't going to be under a microscope. If I were with some other guy, someone like Matt, everyone would know everything about us. Back then, I haven't put much thought into the possibility of us going public, but I knew that if we did, people would be too shocked to pry. But the reason why I stayed with him, other than that he spins my world around," I bite my lower lip to stop myself from giggling. "Is because I can talk to him. Really talk.." I don't know how to explain it without sounding snobbish. "For instance, when I went on a date with Mike, he spent twenty minutes talking about how he doesn't understand languages, about how he doesn't understand how people know how to translate English to some other language. He ended that amazing twenty minute speech by saying that he knows how tongues work, and then he winked at me. I spent half an hour under the shower after that date."

She laughs on the other side of the line, even though I'm pretty sure I've told her this story already.

"And don't get me wrong, Stefan has his immature moments as well. And he often laughs at me, or makes fun of me. But when I'm serious, he knows it, and acts accordingly. Things he has no interest in often turn into our main topic of conversation simply because he knows they interest me, so I pay him back in the same measure. You simply have to get to know him, and then all of your _why's_ will become as clear as your _how's_."

"Ah," she exhales. "Get to know him. Hang out with him. Like we're best buds," she says sarcastically.

I roll my eyes, because that tone of voice is nothing like Bonnie, but so much like Caroline. "You don't have to be best buds with him, Bonnie. But you are buds with me, and he is my boyfriend, so I can always set up a play date for the two of you," I grin at that.

"Elena, I can't wear this, I look like a freaking lawn!" Stefan yells from the bathroom.

"Bonnie, I'll have to call you back," I sigh, rubbing my forehead, creasing it with my fingertips. "I'm dating Kim Kardashian, apparently."

"Sure," she says through laughter. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. You have to let me know how the dinner went!"

What she actually means is, you have to let me know all the ways in which your parents decided to embarrass you in.

"Will do." I hang up, throw my phone on the bed, losing the sight of it somewhere between the creases of his covers, and swing my legs towards the floor. I push myself off of the bed and make my way towards the bathroom.

"Wow," I widen my eyes at the sight of him. "You really do look like a lawn."

The color doesn't really suit him, and the sweater stretches itself over his broad shoulders and torso, wrapping itself around him like rubber.

I cross my arms over my chest. "How is this possible?" I frown. "The color of the sweater should bring out the color of your eyes."

He grabs the hem of his sweater with his fingertips. "I'm sorry both my sweater and me disappointed you," he cocks his eyebrow at me.

He tugs at the treacherous sweater and pulls it over his head. "I don't know what the big deal is, anyway. Will your parents really think any better of me if I dress according to their wishes?"

I bow my head and put my face in my palms, gently massaging my temple with the tips of my thumbs. "Oh boy," I exhale before looking up at him, giving him a pointed look. "You're so not ready for my parents. Especially not my mother," I cock my eyebrow at him.

He smiles before taking several steps in my direction, closing the awfully small distance between us. "What?" he cocks his head to the side, his eyes trying to catch mine. "The fact that I'm losing my mind over you is not enough for them?"

In times like these, when we're standing this close to one another, he has to look down at me, and I have to look up at him, his shape blurry through my lashes. I lower my eyes down his bare chest, continuously reminding my brain not to let me drool in the process, to the perfect _V_ shape half visible behind the elastic band of his boxers.

I feel like my whole face is on fire.

"It's so hot in here," I blurt out, my cheeks illuminating like it's 4th of July. He starts leaning in, and continues doing so until my back presses against the wall. "Can you feel it too? Did you turn the heating on? Because I think you went overboard," I start blabbing like a flustered schoolgirl, his face so close to mine that I can feel his breath on my skin even before he exhales.

A mischievous smile makes an appearance on his lips. "Yeah, I can feel it too."

And then, before I get a chance to say another word - not that I would be able to think of one - he presses his lips against mine. The kiss surprises me, when every sane person could have seen it coming from miles away, and the impact of it makes me weak to my knees.

He grabs me by the hips and pulls me away from the wall, but closer to his body. My palms collide with his chest, which is such a huge mistake, because I release a loud, violent moan into his mouth. He seems to like it, because one of his smiles creeps into my mouth and crawls down my throat.

I have to stand on my toes to keep the kiss alive, and by now he knows very well how much my toes hurt after standing on them for too long, so he slowly lifts me up into his embrace. I wrap my legs around his waist, and my arms around his neck, to spare him the trouble of supporting me with his arms.

I didn't know that kissing a boy could be like this. I thought these kinds of kisses only happen in movies, as our resemble a more modern version of Casablanca. Maybe this is how everyone feel like when they like someone this much - their kisses vary from innocent Disney descriptions to something not even HBO would feel comfortable airing.

He stumbles with me in his arms, the extra weight he has to carry throws him off balance, but he finds his way out of a tiny, crowded space of his bathroom and moves us to the hallway.

Sometimes I wonder about what Caroline would think if she could see us like this. Maybe it's a silly thing to think about while making out with my boyfriend, but her ignorance and prejudice is on my mind almost every minute of every day, so it sneaks into moments like these as well.

I wonder how Stefan looks like inside of her mind, so I try to remember how I've seen him before, only to find out that I'm unable to. I can't see anything before now, and sometimes I wish she could see him like I do, so that everything she had seen before simply disappears.

He pushes me against a wall and a dull pain surges through my spine, but I barely notice it because it's nothing compared to the pleasure coursing through my veins.

I've been thinking about having sex before. Who hasn't? But I never obsessed over it, because I never minded being a virgin. I don't see losing my virginity as some kind of a ritual, which is why I never thought I would make a big deal out of it. And I'm not, making a big deal out of it. So why can't I just go through with it? When every part of my body wants it, except my lousy brain that keeps laughing at the very idea of it.

I can hear my phone buzzing all the way from his room.

I start squirming in his arms unintentionally.

"Mmm, don't answer that," he groans.

"I have to," I murmur between the kisses. "What if it's my mother, asking do you like radish. Do you want to end up eating radish?"

He stops kissing me. "Boy, do you know how to kill the mood," he looks at me pointedly before lowering me down on the ground.

I wink at him before running after my screaming phone.

* * *

"And you're sure he's not allergic to anything?" my mother asks me again, carefully eyeing the food laid out on our kitchen island like it's a weapon of mass destruction.

"Yes, mother! For the hundredth time, yes!" I exclaim, throwing my arms in the air out of annoyance and exhaustion.

"I'm sorry," she huffs, "I just don't want the boy choking to death at our dinner table because I didn't know he's allergic to salmon."

I crook my nose. "You made salmon."

"Among other things. Why?"

"Because it's pretentious," I push myself away from the wall and start towards the kitchen. "And it smells like dirty gym socks."

"Elena!" she scolds me. _Don't speak that way about food_ , my mother always warns me when I compare one of her meals to something unflattering. "And I told you to stay away from the food so you don't taint your dress." Yes, she had made me wear a dress.

"I can't stay away from the food, mom. It's everywhere," she made a ton of food. Literally. You could feed several small villages with the amount of the food she had made. "I know I didn't clarify, so I take my part of the responsibility, but I'm not dating an entire football team."

Before she gets a chance to answer that, our doorbell rings and the sound washes away the appalled look on her face, and replaces it with excitement.

"I'm on it," I shout loudly to make sure everyone had heard me, and then run for the door. Thank God for my reflexes.

I straighten my dress, because somewhere inside of me lies an 18th century old girl who had been told to always look proper in front of her man, and yank open the front door. "Run," I hiss through my teeth even before I make sure it's him standing in front on our front porch.

Thankfully, it is. "Excuse me?" he asks, surprise and shock plastered all over his face.

"Run while you can. She made salmon. She's crazy. I'll cover for you."

He cocks his eyebrow at me. "Elena," he says my name with a warning.

I push the door wide open. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

He smiles and steps in. Well, let the games begin.

Once I close the door, I notice him looking around our hall with awe. "You have a thing for halls? Is that your fetish?" I joke, going in for a kiss.

He gives me a quick peck on the lips - it's over before I get a real taste. "It's warm," is all he says, as if that sentence explains every single thought going through his head. I look around, as if I'm looking at it for the first time - I guess it is warm, and cozy, and the pictures on the wall scream love.

There are no pictures on the inner walls of his house.

"Oh, honey, you didn't have to," I say with a grin.

"What?"

I point my look towards the bouquet of flowers in his hands.

"Oh, no, these are for your mom," he explains.

"Well, you didn't have to bother for me, either," my mothers voice surprises us both. I can see Stefan's eyes go wide at the sight of her.

My mother is not a scary woman. Frankly, she's quite ordinary with her brown eyes and brown hair - she doesn't stand out from the crowd in any way.

"It was no bother," Stefan says, his voice wavering a bit. He's nervous. How adorable.

My mother takes the flowers out of his hands. "Well, thank you, they're quite lovely."

"Stefan, you've probably already figured it out, but this is my mother," I look at her. "Mom, Stefan."

He shakes her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Gilbert."

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine," she beams up. She likes polite people who know how to address people in a correct manner. "And you don't have to call me Mrs. Gilbert, Miranda will do just fine."

I shake my head. Nope, no, it won't.

"I have to put these in some water. Elena, would you mind leading Stefan to the living room."

"Actually, I was thinking about leading him to the shed," I start walking down the hall, motioning for Stefan to follow me.

"What?" she asks, confused.

"It was a joke, mom."

I lead Stefan into the living room, where my dad is waiting.

"Dad," I call for him with a smile on my face.

"Oh, Elena," he feigns surprise. Mom probably made a scheme where everyone should be once Stefan comes over.

"Stefan arrived," I announce him.

My dad releases a soft laugh. "Yes, I can see that."

He walks over to Stefan and extends his hand to him, and Stefan grabs it to shake it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he says politely, checking Stefan out from head to toe, in a less subtle way than mom did.

"Likewise," Stefan replies.

"Would you like anything to drink?" he lets go of Stefan's hand a moves towards the cabinet where all the drinks are stashed.

"A glass of scotch. No ice," I say.

He laughs again. "How about a soda?"

"Seems fair," I shrug. "Where's Jeremy?"

"Upstairs. He said he would be down for dinner. Please, take a seat."

I motion for Stefan to sit down. I take a spot next to him, but not too close, because I don't want my mother to come in and start throwing condoms at us.

"Grayson, look," she saunters into the living room. "Stefan brought me flowers."

My father looks at the flowers my mother had placed in one of her favorite vases, and then back to Stefan. "You didn't have to bother," he says, but he seems quite pleased by his action.

"It was no bother," Stefan repeats. I reach for his hand and squeeze it for support, only to feel his wet palms. A whole new level of nervous.

"So, Stefan, you go to school with Elena?" he asks as he hands us our sodas, and my mother throws four coasters on the glass coffee table.

"Yes." What a stupid question. There's only one high school in Mystic Falls, it's not like he has a choice.

"And what do you plan to do afterwards? College?" he inquires.

Stefan stays quiet for a while before giving his answer. "Actually, I'm not sure yet."

He's not sure there will be any money, even for community college.

"Oh," my mother releases a disappointed exhale. "Elena, where are you applying, again?" she asks, as if she wants to point out the difference between us, between what kind of future we want or plan to have for ourselves. As if my boyfriend doesn't know where I've applied.

"Vassar. And Sarah Lawrence," I say.

"And Yale," he adds.

"Yale?" my father asks, and my mother adds. "This is the first time I'm hearing anything about Yale."

"Well, I've never mentioned it before, since there's no way I would ever, in million years, get in."

"You don't need million years, you just need one," he squeezes my knee, and I smile at him. My heart starts beating faster, because he believes in me more than I believe in myself.

"So, yeah, I've decided to apply. Sending one more application won't kill me."

My parents exchange a look that is, I guess, meaningful to them.

"You know, Stefan," my mother smiles, "Elena has never brought a boy home before."

I groan, "There was never a boy to bring." Plus, it's not like they gave me much say in the matter now.

"Shush," she waves me off, "I'm sure you've already met Stefan's parents."

I wince, and she notices it, which is how she knows she had said something highly inappropriate.

"Actually, it's just me and my brother," he explains the situation.

"I'm so sorry," she apologizes instantly, her cheeks as red as wine.

"It's fine," he says, because he knows there's no possible way she could have known.

"Your brother.. Damon, right?" my father asks with his thinking face on. The only thing he's missing is a lit bulb over his head.

"Yes, sir," Stefan nods, surprised that my father knows his brother. As surprised as me.

"He used to work for us, remember Miranda? Tall, dark haired boy from several years ago?"

"Oh, yes!" my mother exclaims, looking at Stefan. I know what she's thinking - they look nothing alike.

"He had quit once he started college. Said he wants to find something closer to the campus. How's he doing?"

"Fine," he answers, an uncomfortable smile dancing on his lips. "Just fine."

"Good, good."

"So," my mother starts, "Tell us about how the two of you met. School?"

"Actually, we've met at Summer camp," I admit.

Both of my parents stay silent at that fact, and if I could see inside of their heads I would probably see -

No, screw that, I don't want to see inside of their heads, because _our daughter, unsupervised, with a boy in a cabin, at Summer camp_ written all over their faces is just enough for me.

"We've seen each other around the school, obviously," he says.

"But we've never really talked before," I add.

"I see," my mother manages to cough out.

"And what are your intentions with our daughter?" my father asks.

"Oh boy," I exhale, bowing my head down, embarrassed by my own parents.

"Are we supposed to ask that?" he asks my mother.

"Well, that's what my father asked you," she points out.

"I wasn't sure parents still do that," he shrugs.

"What would you say if he said he wants to get me drunk and tie me to a hog?" I ask, and they both look at me, bewildered. _Score!_

Stefan laughs. "I don't have any intentions with her, beside whatever intentions she has for herself."

Nice save. Color me impressed.

Color my parents impressed as well, because they share another meaningful look.

"Should we move to the dining room?" mom stands up.

"I'll call Jeremy," dad says.

"I'll get the food," mom yells, already on her way to the kitchen.

"Let's go," I poke him with my elbow.

When my father notices us standing up and walking towards the dining room he calls for my brother one last time and hurries after us to make sure we don't make him a grandchild on a dining room table.

When we enter, he leans in and whispers in my ear. "You were right, that shirt would really blend in with the color of the walls."

I smile.

* * *

 _AN: I'm sorry it took me so long to update, I've been out of the country for several days._


	11. Chapter 11

**_July 1858, London, United Kingdom_**

 _"Do you really believe the Queen will come?" Bessie asks, her nose crinkled, her eyes narrow. I remember Mother telling her to stop making such heinous facial expressions ever since we were children - she told her she will never find a suitable husband if she ends up resembling Mr. Wellington's dog, a bulldog named Barry. Bessie's face never froze, on the contrary, she grew up to be the most beautiful one out of four of us, probably just to spite Mother. But despite the high number of her suitors, she's still not interested in marriage. Bessie is a fact checker and, if her calculations are to be trusted, the facts show that there's not even one marriage proposal she would benefit from._

 _"Of course she'll come!" Anna squeals excitedly, a little bit shocked by Bessie's disbelief. When several people in a close proximity to us turn their heads around, Mother scolds her with her look, and anyone who knows our mother knows that her look is more powerful than ten beatings with a ladle. Anne is too big to take a beating, anyway._

 _"I've heard the Prince of Wales is coming as well," Margret pitches in, basically swooning at the thought of a male participant of the Royal family standing right in front of her. She is the youngest one, which means that her heart is still the softest, most mellow one._

 _Anna huffs, annoyed by Margret's innocence and naivety. "You wish," this time, she pays attention to the tone of her voice. In my humble opinion, Anna is not annoyed by Margret, she's envious of her, because she's still young enough to remember how it is to believe in all these wonderful possibilities life has to offer you, but old and experienced enough to know not all of them can come true. In fact, a lot of them never do._

 _"Now, now, girls," Mother says charmingly in case anyone can hear her, but at the same time letting us know that we're on her last nerves. She adjusts the strings of her hat under her chin which shields her from the setting sun._

 _Ever since Father passed away, which wasn't that long ago, Mother is doing her best to present us to the public in best light possible. Father was a respected man, and he didn't leave us in poverty, far from it actually, but Mother knows that she has to marry us off as soon as possible to maintain our standard of living. Bessie, the oldest one of us, refuses to cooperate. Margret is far too young for marriage and Anne, who's just come of age, scares all the men off with her high pitched voice._

 _And that leaves me. The docile one._

 _"I'm sure the Royal family has better things to do than listen to the opera," Bessie responds authoritatively. She allows herself that tone of voice with us because Mother, in her absence, often leaves Bessie in charge over the rest of us._

 _"Like what?" I ask under my breath, which makes Anne snicker._

 _Maybe some of them do have responsibilities, but a large number of them lives the life of leisure - they barely move a finger for an entire day! But, I assume, watching the opera among the commoners is below them._

 _Mother flogs me with her look and my cheeks turn red with shame. She often says that I'm her best hope - I always answer politely, and when I don't know what to say I either nod with understanding, or laugh charmingly. But I always know what to say, I'm just not always sure what I have to say is the right thing to say. I am well mannered, well read, well educated in all the topics of a conversation._

 _She also notes that my tongue is too sharp, and that my wit is undesirable. She says that I should learn how to keep certain words, sentences, comments, bottled inside of me. No man wants a wife with too much to say._

 _"Mother, look!" Anne whispers excitedly, but even her whispers somehow manage to come out too loud, beating their purpose. "It's Mr. Clarke," I notice her fingers clutching at her dress, wrinkling it, all to stop herself from pointing at them._

 _"Where?" Mother moves in front of us, her giant, fluttery skirt forcing us to move several steps backwards._

 _"He's talking to Mrs. Hill!" she exclaims, trying to stiff her giggle. Mrs. Hill has been trying to marry her only daughter off for many, many years now, but unsuccessfully. Mother says it's because she's not very pleasant to look at._

 _She fights with the last residing sun beams and the crowd settled in front of the Royal Opera. Once her eyes find Mr. Clarke, she corrects her posture and steadies her eyes on him, waiting for him to notice her. It doesn't take him long to feel someones eyes on his presence - he smiles in Mothers direction, and she smiles right back at him, urging him to quicken his departure from Mrs. Hill._

 _Once he starts walking in our direction, I notice a boy - no, a man - walking behind him. Mother gives me a knowing look and my sisters move to the side, leaving me all alone in the spotlight. I want to shrink, I want to turn into a creature so small so I can run away without anyone noticing._

 _Mother wants me to marry Edward, Mr. Clarke's eldest son, who's five years my senior. Mr. Clarke is inclined to the idea as well, but I know nothing of Edward's feelings since we've talked only four or five times. I tried, I really did, but he's so stiff and uninterested in everything that comes out of my mouth, and then Mother looks at me like it's all my fault. Like it's my job to make him more polite, more interesting, more talkative. He doesn't want a wife, he wants a monkey who will try time and time again until it does something to grasp his attention. I grew up watching Edward and he's never been a particularly interesting man, but he's obedient and hard working and, at the young age of 23, already richer than his father had been when he was his age._

 _Bessie touches me with her little finger to let me know that she's here for me since she's the only one who knows my real feelings. She's the only one who can hear my internal screams - I don't want to marry him, please don't make me marry him!_

 _As they walk, another figure joins them, and now Mr. Clarke has two boys at his side. One is regal, walking with his back straight, his look clear and his eyes void of any emotion. His coat is so fine and flat that the materiall looks almost unreal. While the other fights for his breath with flushed cheeks, like he's been running. His hair is messy, and his coat is unbuttoned. Mr. Clarke shakes his head when he joins them._

 _"Is that.." Bessie asks, never finishing her sentence._

 _"William," I say more excitedly than Mother would have liked me to. So excitedly that, if I were still a child, I would get a beating once we come home. "I didn't know that he's back."_

 _"Yes, well," Mother flicks her tongue. "Neither did I."_

 _William was never a bad boy, at least not in the true sense of the word, but he always was a rule breaker. Whenever something went missing, or whenever something went wrong, everyone always pointed their fingers at him. And with full right, because he's the boy who would steal leftovers of liquor from the glasses from all the tables at a party, and who would steal his fathers cigars to smoke with boys who are not even close to being his friends._

 _He was also my first kiss. We were 14 years old when he kissed me - it was sloppy and wet and quick - and declared "One day, Clara Anderson, I'm going to marry you so I can kiss you whenever I want" - and then he proceeded stealing a horse from his neighbors stable._

 _He was also my second kiss, which was a lot better than the previous one, right before he went off to college. He planned on attending New College in London, just like his brother did, but his father thought that the change of scenery would do him good, so he sent him off to the University of Cambridge._

 _"Mrs. Anderson," Mr. Clarke addresses my mother, takes her hand into his and plants a loud smooch on the top of it._

 _"Mr. Clarke," she greets him politely. "Always a pleasure."_

 _"Indeed."_

 _"Mrs. Anderson," Edward takes his hat off out of respect, while William simply bows, his hands clasped behind his back._

 _"Mr. William," Mother looks at him with a judgmental expression on her face. "I wasn't aware of your return."_

 _"Well, you see, there are no classes during the summer, so I came back home few days ago," he explains, rocking on his heels._

 _"Few days ago? One would think you had more than enough time to dress properly."_

 _"Oh," he looks down at his unbuttoned coat, but his hands stay clasped behind his back with no intention of fixing the damage. "You'll have to excuse me, I was in a hurry. I almost overslept this whole thing."_

 _"Overslept?" Mother roars. "But it's six o'clock in the evening!" she exclaims, horrified by his statement. Only newborns and old people sleep at this hour._

 _"Oh," he exhales before grinning widely. "It is?"_

 _My sisters release a small laugh, one that already started dying in their bellies before it got a chance to crawl to freedom, and I soon follow. After all, I'm the one standing closest to Mother._

 _"William, that would be enough," his father warns him, but William doesn't seem too concerned by his fathers scowl._

 _His eyes soften once they reach my face. "Ms. Clara," he says my name warmly. "You do remember my son, Edward?"_

 _I glance towards Edward, who's all stoic and regal, every piece of hair in its place even though he's been wearing a hat._

 _"Yes, I believe we have met," I take a small courtesy._

 _Only a few million times by now._

 _I can see William laugh from the corner of my eye, as if he can hear my thoughts. Or maybe he's thinking the same thing._

 _Edward forces himself to smile, unless his smiles are usually stiff, and bows his head in my direction._

 _"A lot of people here," William notices. "It's hot. Stuffy."_

 _"Son, I'm paying a lot of money for your education so I expect you to speak in full sentences," Mr. Clarke says half jokingly, half seriously, so Mother and Edward decide to laugh. My sisters and me are not sure what's our desired course of action, so we stay silent._

 _William ignores him, though. "Ms. Clara, would you like to take a walk with me? To catch some fresh air before the play?" he asks hopefully._

 _I can hear my sisters gasp behind me. I'm not engaged to Edward, nothing's in the motion yet, but I think everyone are counting on it. And when I say everyone, I mean Mother and Mr. Clarke. Edward doesn't seem to care who he marries._

 _But me? Let's put it this way - I would spend an eternity having the same repetitive conversation with William rather than one lifetime married to Edward._

 _"How nice of you to ask," I pretend to be charmed by his request, when in reality I know he's doing a favor to us both. "Of course I would like to go for a walk."_

 _My mother crooks her head to the side, a bit surprised by my answer._

 _William takes a step forward and, with a smile on his face, points towards the open path behind my sisters. "Shall we?"_

 _"We shall," I reply._

 _So we start walking down the path, distancing ourselves from the Opera House, but approaching the beauty and glamour of Convent Garden. As we move further away from our families, I feel like my lungs finally learn what's it like to truly breathe._

 _"They did a nice job with restoring the building," he says._

 _It takes me some time to realize that he's referring to the Opera House and the unfortunate incident of it being destroyed by the fire two years ago._

 _"Oh, yes, they did a marvelous job," I express my feelings. "But don't you feel like, whenever they restore some old building, due to unfortunate circumstances or some other reason, it loses a bit of its original charm and essence?"_

 _"Hmm," he narrows his eyes. "I never actually thought about it that way."_

 _"Oh, I have!" I exclaim, feeling free to express my thoughts and feelings without being asked. "Sometimes I wonder will all of these buildings, far into the future, be unrecognizable? Is time going to swallow them, like it swallows us? Will, a century from now, that Opera House we're about to enter look so new and modern and appropriate for it' era that people then won't even think about people from our time walking the same steps they walk on?"_

 _"You think they should have left the Opera House in ashes?"_

 _"No!" I say, too loud, Anne kind of loud, shocked by his preposterous idea. "I'm not saying that change is avoidable, I'm simply saying that it's sad."_

 _He smiles while shaking his head left to right. "You think too much, Ms. Clara."_

 _"And you think too little, Mr. William," I shoot right back at him. "But do tell me, how is college life treating you - well, I assume?"_

 _"Fine, fine," he retorts, completely uninterested in the subject of his education. "It's nice. Calm. Not a lot of racket."_

 _"So nothing like London, then?"_

 _"No, definitely not," he says through laughter. When he laughs, the sound echoes everywhere around me, which makes me realize we've moved far away from the anticipating crowd. We would be alone if it weren't for the group of men on the other side of the Garden. "But there's something missing there."_

 _"And what is that?" I ask with interest._

 _He looks at me, a gentle smile playing at his lips. "Beautiful women."_

 _My cheeks adapt a color that is not natural to the color of the human skin. "There's no beautiful women at Cambridge? Not even one?" I challenge him to hide my own whirlwind of emotions. "That's very hard for me to believe."_

 _It's not that I find myself unattractive, but I don't find myself beautiful either. Bessie is the beautiful one, with her large curls and deep sky blue eyes, melodic voice and strawberry shaped lips. I'm plain, with my straight chestnut hair and matching eyes, thin lips and a nose too small for my face. I'm neither ugly nor beautiful, I simply meld in with the crowd._

 _"Oh, there are, just not the right ones."_

 _It seems like he has an answer to every question I might have._

 _"I hear they're trying to marry you off to my brother," the tone of his voice changes as he utters those words, seeping with as much anger as sadness._

 _Sadness because he can't be mad at his brothers happiness, and anger.. well, I don't know what the anger's for._

 _"There's been some discussion about it, yes," I admit._

 _"I guess I've been silly to believe that you would wait for me."_

 _When I hear those words, I stop walking, burying my feet deep into the ground, immobilizing myself. "I'm sorry, Sir, but are you playing a joke on me?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. He turns around - no, he spins around on his heel, like he's made of air. "Because you can't be saying what I think you're saying."_

 _For the first time for as long as I can remember he seems to be at the loss of words. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you," he utters, barely._

 _"Well, are you?" I ask snappily. I would never dare to speak to another person in this matter, especially not a well respected male, but this is a boy I've known my entire life and he's making my brain turn into mush with his silly declarations._

 _"Am I what?"_

 _"Playing a joke on me?"_

 _"No," he answers instantly._

 _"You never gave me any indication that I should wait for you."_

 _"I don't go around kissing every girl I see on the street, you know."_

 _My fingers almost instantly fly to my lips at the mention of a kiss, like they usually do. Whenever a memory of it would sneak into my mind, my fingers would instantly shoot up to my lips, just to check that the fire I feel on them is not the real one._

 _"Your lack of action is not the problem here, your lack of words is!" I say angrily._

 _"What do you need words for when you're brave enough to take action?" he counters me._

 _"Oh, words help a great deal! Kissing me is not the same as saying that you want to - "_

 _Marry me, is what I almost say, but I stop myself before the words leave my mouth._

 _I pull my lips into a thin, straight line. I straighten my dress with the open palms of my hands and I compose myself. "We should really head back. They'll be wondering where we are, and if we're late we're going to lose all the good seats."_

 _"So we'll sit in the back," he replies, his face conveying disbelief. He can't believe we're having this conversation in the middle of another conversation I've been so hast to end._

 _"In the back?" All alone? Just the two of us? That would give people something to talk about for an entire week!_

 _"I don't want my wife running off to her mother every time we have a disagreement."_

 _"Your wife?" I huff, borrowing some of the disbelief that is still residing in his expression. "I must have missed the part where we're married!"_

 _"So don't miss it!" he raises his voice, getting the attention of the gentleman on the other side of the Garden. "Don't marry my brother, marry me instead! Let me call you my wife, or Mrs. Clarke, or whatever else you would like me to call you, I only beg you to let me call you mine."_

 _Now it's my turn to be speechless. Oh, to marry someone who allows you to speak up, to yell, to converse, to express, I never thought it possible! I never thought such boys exist - boys who have so much fire inside of themselves, but still have enough room for your own as well. I've, of course, known that William exists, but he has never followed the rules, so I always thought that marriage is out of question for him as well._

 _I would love to marry him, but.._

 _As if he can hear my thoughts, he speaks up. "Don't worry about asking your mother, or my father, or anyone else. I'm not asking for their hand, I'm asking for yours," he takes several steps forward, coming dangerously close to me. "Many, many years ago I've told you that I'm going to marry you so I can kiss you every time the urge overtakes me. I've been a boy then, a reckless, inappropriate boy," he exhales. "I know I don't act or talk like the other boys my age, like it's expected from me, but I've grown in many other ways. A lot of things have changed since the time I stole a horse from the stable or got little Jimmy Bishop so drunk he could barely walk straight. I know what I want from life, I'm working hard to achieve it, I'm ready for everything that such life entails. Some things, on the other hand, are still the same," a soft smile appears on his lips. "I still want to marry you so I can kiss you whenever I want to."_

 _And at that, I smile._

 _"And who am I to stand between you and your dreams?"_

 _"Is that a yes?" he inquiries hopefully._

 _"Yes, it is," my smile widens some more, if possible._

 _He takes several more steps in my direction, closing the distance between us, and circles his arms around my waist. I can feel my feet leaving the ground as he lifts me in the air, and a loud laughter soars from my belly, scratching my throat with delight as it crawls out of it and fills the air._

* * *

"My parents _looooved_ you!" I put an emphasis on the word _love_.

The dinner went great, if you ignore the part where my father asked _'what are your intentions with my daughter'_ , which magically disappeared once I mentioned Stefan is crazy for comics. Jeremy was nice, well mannered, well behaved, to everyone's surprise. And Stefan complimented my mothers meal after practically every bite, so that scored him some major points with her.

"Did they now?" he asks proudly.

I called him as soon as I woke up. There wasn't much time to talk yesterday after dinner. I didn't feel comfortable with talking about my parents and his impression of them with them standing only few feet away from us, and the upcoming winter and its appropriate weather prevent us from standing outside and talking for too long.

"Yes! I have no idea how, but somehow you've managed to win them over."

"Ouch," he fakes being hurt. "Way to take a beating at my already fragile ego."

"I did not mean it like that," I roll my eyes. Sometimes, I've come to understand, boyfriends are like small babies, or pets, or furbies - they demand constant attention. If you don't give it to them, they start screaming at you during the night. "I've never doubted your charming abilities since, after all, you've managed to charm me."

"Maybe that's my super power - putting the entire Gilbert clan under my spell!"

I laugh loudly into the phone, my entire body vibrating with laughter.

"Hey, Elena?" he asks, the tone of his voice suddenly turning serious. "Are you still having those dreams?"

I stay quiet for several minutes, pondering on why would he ask me that question so suddenly, out of the blue, before finally answering. "Yeah, I am. Why?"

"You haven't mentioned them in quite some time, so I was just wondering.."

It's true, I haven't mentioned them, not to him, not to anyone else.. not even to myself. They became a normal part of my life, something that happens to me once I close my eyes and fall asleep. They don't even come as such a shock to me anymore, either. I mean, after initial dizziness and disorientation I'm perfectly fine.

"Well," I clear my throat with a cough. "I really didn't see a point in mentioning them."

He wouldn't understand them, anyway. All I would be able to do is repeat everything I've already told him one more time, and the more I repeat it, the crazier he'll think I am. I would know, there was a time when I thought I'm crazy myself. I still kinda do.

"You know you can tell me anything that's bugging you, right?"

"They don't bug me," I say, somewhat defensively.

"They don't?" his voice echoes on the other side of the line.

"No, not anymore," I dismiss him and, as I say those words, I note that my voice doesn't resemble my own anymore.

"Oh," he exhales, confusion coloring his tone, but despite it he decides to close this topic. "Okay then."

"I've been thinking," I say in order to steer us away from this conversation. "Now that my parents know, I think we should just go public, let everyone know."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, I mean.." I get all serious, "My friends know, and my brother knows, which means that everyone I care about at that school know."

I say friends, plural, as if Caroline is still my friend. I wouldn't be so hasty to discard her as one, but I'm still not sure I can count on her anymore.

"Well, if that's what you want.." he starts.

"Don't you want it as well?" I start as soon as he starts drifting off, angrily. I don't want to force him to do this if he doesn't want to do it, even though it's such a normal thing for a couple to do. "Don't you want to hold my hand in public, kiss me in front of other people, or hang out somewhere else than between the four walls of your bedroom?"

"Of course I do," he replies, like that shouldn't even be a concern of mine.

"Then it's settled. We're coming clean on Monday."


	12. Chapter 12

"You know that we don't have to do this, right?" he says calmly, completely relaxed. He's trying to stay cool and collected for my sake when I know that, in reality, he's as nervous as I am.

"I know that we don't have to do it, but we want to do it, remember?" I ask, wanting to make sure that this is something both of us want - I don't want to pressure him into fulfilling my desires if they're going to turn out to be harmful for him.

My eyes widen in anticipation for his response.

"I do want this, Elena," he exhales, tired of reassuring me in one and the same over and over again. "In one hand. In the other, I don't want to leave this car."

"I feel the same way," I admit, nodding my head slowly.

"We don't have to, you know?" he starts leaning in towards me with a silly smile on his face. "We can stay here, talk, eat unnecessary amounts of junk food, make out," his lips are closing in on mine, threatening to erase the already non existing distance between them. "Skip school," he continues.

At that, I gasp. "Now you're talking nonsense. That could get us killed. Or worse - expelled!" I do my best Hermione imitation before breaking into laughter.

He sighs, but pulls away from me with a smile on his face.

"Come on," I reach for my books which are resting in the backseat, but I lean deep enough to bump shoulders with him. "Let's go."

I open the car doors first, so he follows my lead. It's late, classes are about to start, so there are not a lot of students outside. The ones who are outside are in a hurry to get to their classes in time, so they're not paying much attention to us. It's a relief I know won't last for long.

He walks over to my side of the car and takes my hand in his. "Let's go," he whispers, or maybe he says it with a normal tone of voice and I hear it as a whisper. My ears are buzzing.

We start walking towards the school and once we enter the school yard, people start turning their heads in our direction. I notice that all of them are much younger than us, probably freshmen or sophomores who know bits and pieces of the story, of the rumors, who can tell that something is wrong, but not exactly what - and yet, their hazy looks make me shiver with fear.

When we approach the front doors of a place that now, in my mind, resembles a hell hole, he squeezes my hand tightly. To make sure I don't float away.

Once we cross the threshold, it's like we cross into a different dimension. No one ever looked at me like this, or stared at me for such a long time without looking away. Or without blinking.

You know those scenes in movies when a main protagonist does something wrong and the whole school finds out about it? Sleeps with her best friends boyfriend, spreads an ugly rumor, or gets humiliated in some way that's out of her control. The next day she enters the school and everything starts happening in slow motion, everyone are staring at her and thousand upon thousand of voices are whispering her name.

I guess that happens in real life as well. Who knew? Not me, because I never did anything so preposterous to make people act that way towards me. I was always little miss proper, girl who was always there, but never really present.

I can hear my name being repeated by dozen of unknown voices, each of them overlapping in one second time.

He doesn't say anything, and neither do I. I don't know why he stays quiet, but I keep my mouth shut because I feel shame out of several different reasons. One of them is irrational - we did nothing wrong. Our relationship is no one's business but ours.

The other one is completely rational, and it's breaking my heart into thousand pieces - is this how he always feels? Like he's on display? Are there always so many strange voices inside of his head, and what does he do to shut them up? He's been a target for so many years now that people don't even bother to whisper around him anymore.

I shouldn't be ashamed, they should be, but I carry their weight anyway simply because they refuse to.

I dare to raise my head, just to see their faces, to estimate how bad the situation is. After a fragment of a second, I realize that I've made a mistake because my eyes lock with hers - my best friend, or my former best friend, or whatever the hell she is to me now.

She's surrounded by few of the members of our cheer squad who are whispering among each other, looking in our direction from the corner of their eyes. Caroline is just standing there, staring at us - well, mostly staring at me - with a blank expression on her face. A part of me wonders what exactly is she thinking - that I'm stupid, that I'm brave? The other part of me doesn't want to know.

What I do know is that I would break apart if I raised my head and saw her whisper along with everyone else.

Just as I'm about to bow my head down again, I see her step out of the crowd. At first I think that she's leaving, but then I realize she's walking towards me. _No, no, no,_ I scream inside of my head, and I don't think I even try to hide the alarming expression on my face. _Please don't say anything that's going to make me cry in front of all these people._

I don't know what she's about to do until she's standing next to me. She pulls her arm under mine and bends it at the elbow and when I see a smile on her face my initial fear is replaced by confusion.

"Okay, I need your History notes, because I totally dozed off in class last week," she says cheerfully, pulling me by the hand, urging me to walk faster.

I look at her, my eyes wide with shock. "What are you doing?" I whisper for only her to hear.

She cocks her head to the side. "Saving you from being this weeks human sacrifice," she answers through her teeth, calm and collected, a smile still dancing on her lips. When my expression doesn't change, she rolls her eyes. "Just play along."

* * *

By lunch, I'm completely lost in time and space. People keep staring at me like I have the plague, and all that staring has made me paranoid. Whenever I pass someone by, that person starts whispering something to another person, their eyes directed at me - I've never wanted to punch someone so badly in my life. But all of the staring and whispering is not as half as annoying as Caroline saying _'you're welcome'_ and walking away after the stunt she had pulled this morning, without another word, without explanation. Like she's some kind of a saint for having her friends back.

"I can't believe we're sitting together," I whisper excitedly, scooting over the plastic cafeteria bench closer to him. "In public. Where people can see us," I pull my lips into a smile so wide that I can feel the corners of my lips crack under pressure.

He bumps his shoulder with mine, that signature half smile of his making an appearance on his face. "Eating turkey sandwich. What a luxury!"

"Well, now that our relationship is all out in the open, we can go anywhere we want. You can take me somewhere really luxurious!" I clap my hands, excited at the prospect of it.

He cocks his eyebrow at me, amused by my childlike behavior. "For cotton candy, gummy worms and milkshake?"

I put my palm over my heart and make a heartwarming puppy face. "You know me so well," I do my best to make my voice sound teary.

"Hey," a familiar voice interrupts our conversation and I raise my head, surprised by the lack of judgment in the persons tone. I see Bonnie standing next to our table with a beige tray in her hands and I scorn myself for not recognizing her voice immediately. I guess I'm still under the influence of today's events. "Can I join you?"

"Of course," I say without asking for Stefan's input - I know that he wouldn't say no even if he does mind her being there.

She sits on a bench across from us and an awkward silence replaces the pleasant atmosphere from a minute ago.

"Okay, I know you guys know each other, but I don't think you actually ever met," I'm the first one to break the silence. I won't stand for it - I have my boyfriend and my best friend at the same table, things finally feel right and I won't let anything ruin that.

"No, I guess not," Bonnie looks over at Stefan and stretches her hand out towards him. "Hi, I'm Bonnie."

He takes her hand in his and shakes it almost immediately, like he was ready for her move. "Stefan," he introduces herself.

"Where were you this morning?"

She waves me off. "I overslept."

I frown. "You? Overslept? You haven't overslept a day in your life ever since we started kindergarten!"

She shrugs, like it's no big deal. "What can I say, it happens to the best of us. My battery died," she gives me a fickle excuse, then changes the topic. "That doesn't mean I haven't heard what happened this morning."

I look around the cafeteria - several people are minding their business, but most of them are still glancing in our direction. "I don't want to talk about it here."

She nods, because she understands. Even if she doesn't, she respects my decision. "Meet me at the Grill after school today?"

"Sure."

She looks at Stefan and smiles. "You're welcome to come as well, of course."

* * *

"Okay, what do you want?" I open the menu, even though I know it by memory, for Stefan to look at. He hasn't been here much. I don't think he's been anywhere much.

"I don't know, what's good here?" he leans towards the table to get a better look at the menu.

"Hmm.. everything with cheese!" I exclaim victoriously.

"Of course," he says through laughter, "But how about something that's not a snack, but a real meal?"

I gasp. "How dare you? Cheese is a real meal," I can feel my cheeks getting puffy with anger. "I won't sit here and listen to you dis cheese! I take my cheese very seriously!"

He cocks his eyebrow in my direction. "You were one of those kids who wanted to live in a house made out of cheese, weren't you?"

"Well, they seem very practical.."

"Hello, my name is Daisy and I'm going to be your waitress for today," a chirpy voice interrupts our conversation before he gets a chance to reply to my comment. "What can I get you?"

"I'll have a big portion of french fries and cheese sticks."

Stefan wiggles his lips before finally ordering, "I guess I'll have the same."

I smile, though I don't say anything.

"Hey, do I know you from somewhere?"

I look up at her again and my eyes meet her bright expression. "Umm, yeah, my parents own this place."

"Not you, silly!" she giggles like we're best buds who know each other since the beginning of time. "Him!" she points her pen at Stefan.

A wave of jealousy washes over me when I see her looking at him the same way I look at him.

"Umm, I don't think so," he says awkwardly, a bit uncomfortable.

She frowns, but even then she looks beyond beautiful. "Are you sure?"

He nods. "Pretty sure."

She studies him for several more seconds before shrugging. "I could have sworn I know you. You look extra familiar. Anyway, your order will be right up," she turns on her heel and bounces towards the kitchen.

"Well, that was weird," I say once I'm sure she can't hear me anymore.

"Yeah," he agrees.

"She's pretty, though."

He shrugs. "I guess so."

"You guess so?" I raise my voice a little.

He looks at me and, before he says anything, he licks his lips just with the tip of his tongue. "I've seen enough movies to know this conversation can't end well. Yes, she's pleasant to look at. But you're pleasant everything."

Before I'm able to think of an answer, the front doors fly wide open - Bonnie comes in, dragging Caroline behind her by the sleeve. "Come on!" she hisses at her.

"Oh, no.." I groan.

Bonnie spots us immediately and starts walking towards our table.

"Elena," she says my name with a rough tone of voice. "Caroline has something to tell you," she looks at Caroline. "Go on," she urges her to speak.

Caroline looks furious - partly at Bonnie, partly at herself for allowing her to drag her here.

Finally, she rolls her eyes and speaks up. "I'm sorry I was such a bitch," she crosses her arms over her chest.

"Not good enough," Bonnie warns her.

"It's okay Bonnie, I don't want her apology if it's not sincere," I say snappily, annoyed by this whole situation.

Caroline just keeps on standing there, pouting, at least until Bonnie looks at her. After that she exhales and her mask falls down, revealing her real expression. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me the most. I'm sorry I made this whole thing probably a lot harder for you. And I'm sorry I acted exactly how you expected me to act," she says in one breath. "I wasn't angry at you because of.." she creates an invisible line in the air between Stefan and me by using her finger. "This. I would never be angry at you for something like that. I was angry because you haven't told me. Because you think so little of me.." tears appear in the corner of her eyes, and her voice becomes scratchy. "Because you think I would actually stop being friends with you simply because of whom you chose to date. And that's why I reacted the way I did. Because my best friend thinks I'm a horrible person."

I stand up on my feet, walking towards her. She flinches a bit, and that saddens me. "No, Caroline, I don't think that. Yes, I was scared to tell you because of the way I thought you would react, but mainly because I kept it from you for so long."

She looks at me hopefully, her eyes still running water.

"Care, you're my best friend, and I love you. Okay?" I place my palms on her shoulders, squeezing her bones.

It takes her some time to nod. "Okay."

* * *

 _AN: Hello! Finally! I really do have to apologize for taking me so long to update - I really didn't have much time. I've spent last week out of town volunteering at this conference - I basically slept for 3 hours each day, so I didn't have time for anything else. I basically have 20 episodes of several shows to watch and I'm freaking out and thinking about pulling an all nighter. Plus, my classes started again and I'm learning to pass my drivers exam.. so, yeah, lack of time. I'll be out of town again last week of October - just to warn you! I'll update before then for sure, though._

 _Anyway, this was basically a filler chapter, more mystery coming coon ;) a lot of fluffy Stelena! Were you surprised by Caroline's reaction?_


	13. Chapter 13

"Elena, is this really necessary?" he complains as I drag him into an already too crowded shopping mall. People are bumping into each other, not even watching the direction in which they're going, but no one seems to mind. Women smile when they hear that beeping sound after cashiers pull their credit cards through the machine, and men smile when their wives hang another heavy bag on their arm. Yet deep inside all of them are annoyed by all this racket and jam, but I guess that's what makes this time of the year special - excitement is so contagious that is wipes away any and every sign of negativity before it has a chance to resurface.

"Yes!" I scream to make sure he hears me over the unusual mixed noise of people's feet against the tiles, hundred upon hundred of voices and cheery Christmas music. "I'm not going to be here for Christmas," I say as sadly as I did the first time I've realized I won't be in town for the holidays.

My fingers are wrapped around his sleeve since I had to drag him here like a mother has to drag her child to the doctors office to get a shot, but now I'm holding on to him for safety in case the crowd decides to carry me away.

I look up at him - his look is stern, hard, maybe even a bit angry and annoyed. He hates the fact that he has to be here. When he told me that he would do anything for me, I guess this is not what he had in mind.

But when he catches me looking at him, the look in his eyes mellows and becomes warmer, happier, cheerful. His eyes smile at me before he says - "Okay, okay. What's the plan?"

A wide smile appears on my face. "We're going to scout the stores in order to try to find a perfect gift for one another. Separately, of course. We'll meet here in an hour, go back to your house where we'll make cookies and exchange gifts."

I let go of his sleeve to look at the watch on my wrist - "It's 4 pm, which means that we'll meet back here at 5 pm sharp!" I stand on my toes and press my lips firmly against his. "Good luck!" I tell him before I spin on my heel and start moving in the direction opposite of his.

The place smells like cinnamon and pine needles and happiness. Parents are lined up with their kids to see the Santa who looks very convincing this year. The kids who are not interested in Santa or are already done with him are gathered around a large, moving railroad some store had set up to lure the kids in. I have to use all the strength that I have within me not to steer from my path towards the food booths - they're handing out free samples of Christmas cookies and cake and candy and everything my tummy craves for.

But I don't have the luxury of thinking about something else than finding a perfect present for Stefan. Since this was my idea, one would think that I got this all figured out, but the truth is that I have no idea.

I have no idea what to get my boyfriend for Christmas.

* * *

I come back to our meeting point five minutes before the time runs out only to already find him there, sitting on the edge of a huge flowerpot, the back of his head in a quarrel with giant leaves.

When he notices me walking in his direction he stands up, an unidentified bag hanging from his fingers, bumping against his knee. We share an awkward look.

How can a shopping mall of this size hold zero things that could be of interest to one person?

"You ready?" he asks, looking at the bag in my hand.

I squeeze the handle tighter with my fingers. The bag is heavy and full, but empty and light at the same time.

I swallow. "Ready."

We walk over to the car in complete silence and, as we distance ourselves from all the chatter and cheerful music, the silence continues. It continues the entire ride home, squeezing in between our already anxious bodies, stealing all of our air. Sometimes, silence can be the deadliest companion there is.

It takes us some time to find our way out of the mall's parking lot, but once we do the ride to his place is a piece of cake.

"Cookies. I have to make cookies," I say, my thoughts wandering out of the permits of my brain, where my consciousness can't reach them. "Want to help?" I make a turn left, driving down the narrow, muddy road leading to his house.

"Sure." I can see his lips move from the corner of my eye. "I just have to use the bathroom first."

I nod my head in understanding. I can't think of anything else to say, so I exhale quietly out of relief when I see his house peering behind the thick row of trees. Damon's car is nowhere to be seen, which is a surprising plus considering the fact he was there before we left.

When I park the car and turn the engine off, each of us takes our own bag from the back seat and we leave the car without making eye contact - actually, I think we try extra hard not to look one another in the eye.

We enter the house at the same time, but he goes to the bathroom while I go straight to the kitchen. When I hear him shut the bathroom door, when I'm sure he can no longer hear me, I exhale loudly.

I can't believe that I, among at least twenty stores I went in, haven't found anything that would remotely interest him. I also can't believe that I rushed into this believing I would find something for him simply because I know him so well.

I place the bag on the chair so I don't have to look at it - it's giving me headache and unruly thoughts - and I make my way to the fridge to get all the ingredients needed to make Christmas cookies. Milk. Butter. Flour. Eggs. Sugar. A pinch of salt. Vanilla extract. I've helped my mom make these so many times that I know the recipe by memory.

"Okay, we should discuss the elephant in the room," I hear his voice coming from the other side of the room and it startles me because I haven't heard him, or seen him, coming.

I raise my look up at him, surprised and shocked by his move since he's never the first one to call attention to our problems. He's standing on the doorway, leaning against the frayed wooden frame with his arms crossed over his torso.

"You didn't find anything in the mall," he pushes himself away from the frame and cocks his eyebrow in my direction, probably amused by my flushed cheeks. "Did you now?" I can feel suspicion in his voice - he fears that he had read the signals wrong and that he's the one who hasn't found anything, not me.

"Well," I take the cloth in my hands to wipe them clean. "Not anything," I try to make it sound less awful, "Just not anything appropriate."

He nods. "Wait here," he raises one finger in the air before turning around on his heel and leaving the room. He comes back in a moment with a white plastic bag in his hand. He places it on the counter in front of me - "Here, open it."

I look at the bag, then back at him. "We were supposed to exchange gifts _after_ baking the cookies."

"Elena," he rolls his eyes, "Just open it."

My curiosity conquers my sense of order so I reach for the bag. It's heavy, so I pull it across the counter. My excitement rises as I reach inside of it and pull out a.. candle?

A big, pink strawberry scented candle.

"I remember you saying you like candle light while reading. And I know you like pink. And strawberries," he explains while I just keep staring at the enormous plain candle in my hands. "That's no excuse, candle is still a sucky Christmas gift."

No, it's no excuse, but it's a nice gesture. It means that he had listened to me while I talked. It means that, when he saw this candle, he remembered me, and that's not something you just throw away.

"No," I shake my head with a light smile on my lips, "It's actually cute."

I shift my attention from the candle to him, noticing a soft smile on his lips as well.

"Yours is on the chair," I point the chair where the bag is with my look, making him turn his head around towards the chair. After a moment of anticipation, he finally moves towards the chair and grabs the heavy bag.

I watch him as he moves the bag from the chair and places it on the counter in front of himself. His hands reach inside the bag and extract my gift out of it, and I follow the lines on his face as his expression adapts curiosity.

"Pull at the top of its head," I groan.

He does as instructed. "Ah," he says, shifting his attention from his gift to me, curiosity still visible on his face. I can see that he doesn't understand the full purpose of his gift.

"It's a cookie jar," I clarify.

"You got me a cookie jar," he raises his eyebrow at me, attaching the top back to its proper place. "In the shape of Darth Vader's head?"

I bow my head and groan, embarrassed. "I know, I know. What kind of a girlfriend gets her boyfriend a cookie jar in the shape of Darth Vader's head for Christmas?"

He doesn't say anything to that, at least not for a while. I can hear him move closer to me - he circles the counter to stay by my side. At one point, his arms go all the way around my waist and he pulls my body closer to his. My body falls perfectly in the shape of his.

"Only the amazing ones, I reckon," he whispers into my ear before planting a kiss on my cheek. That gesture makes me smile and I hide my blushing face from him. "I thought I would have more time. You kinda sprung it out on me, the whole I won't be in town of Christmas thing. I wanted our first Christmas together to be nicer than this."

I turn around with his arms still around me. A teasing smile makes an appearance on my lips. "Our first Christmas together, huh? You expecting another one?"

My joke throws him off of his game, so he blushes, and even though he tries his best to hide it and keep it cool, his voice still flutters when he speaks. "Of course. What would be the point if I didn't?"

Now it's my time to blush. The time we spend together always turns into a blushing session.

"Indeed," is all I manage to say through my flustered expression. "It's not too late for that, though," I try to fix the situation. "Okay, maybe we've screwed up the whole gift exchange part, but we can still make cookies and hot chocolate and watch cheesy Christmas movies."

I look at him hopefully as he ponders over it - can Elena really save Christmas?

"You know, I've never made cookies," he lets go of me and peers inside of the bowl where all the raw ingredients are hiding.

"Never?" I ask with a shocked tone of voice.

He shakes his head. "I was too young when my mom passed away to remember her making cookies, and my dad is not exactly a cookie making type. So, this," he points his finger into the bowl, quickly changing the subject, "Turns into cookies?"

I smile. "Watch this," I take the blender, plug it in and start mixing all the ingredients together. He watches curiously as the ingredients start coming together into a thick, beige mass. I turn the blender off once I decide that the mass is ready for the oven.

"Can I try it?" he asks as soon as I turn the machine off, like he's been dying to ask that question ever since he saw the mass thickening.

"Like, stick your finger in it and lick it?" I make a disgusted face expression. I guess my mothers warnings rubbed off on me, no matter how hard I tried to stop that from happening.

He nods excitedly.

I exhale, "Okay." When it comes to certain things, I refuse to be anything like my mother.

He swipes the tip of his finger over the surface of the cookie dough and pushes it directly into his mouth. It takes him several seconds to react to it, but once the dough slides down his throat he seems delighted by its taste.

"Wow," is all he says before he attacks the bowl with his finger again.

"Hey!" I yell when I see him take a huge chunk of cookie dough with his finger. "No more! It's not good for your stomach!"

"What, this?" he looks at his finger, then back at me, a crooked smile hanging from his lips. "This is not for me," he makes a step forward, walking towards me, "This is for you."

"No," I gasp under my breath. My mom would never let me try it so, of course, one day I sneaked the bowl full of cookie dough to my bedroom and ate the whole thing. I've never felt more sick in my entire life than I did that day. "I can't stand the taste of it," I cry out just as I bump into the counter after making several steps backwards.

He stops in front of me with his finger in front of my mouth - I can smell the sickly sweet scent of cookie dough.

When he notices my expression he moves his finger away from my mouth but, just as I think I'm safe, he smudges the dough all over my cheek.

My jaw drops out of shock, especially when I feel it dripping down my cheek towards my neck, but he releases a belly deep laugh after seeing my expression.

"S-Stefan!" I say his name angrily. I feel as if there's something crawling on my skin.

He puts his hands on my hips and pulls my closer to him, while his lips go straight for my neck - he cleans every trace of cookie dough on the skin of my neck. When he makes sure my skin is thoroughly cleaned, he moves to my jaw and continue to my cheek.

My anger and shock are replaced by a burning sensation. I'm aware that his lips have touched only several spots of my face, but I can feel them on every inch of my skin and that feeling nips my kneecaps - I have to hold on to him because, if it were any other way, I would probably fall down.

I throw my arms around his neck and put my entire weight on him. He doesn't seem to mind.

I want him. I've wanted him for a very long time, and wanting him is a circle I cannot escape. I want him under my clothes and under my skin, I want him in the hollows of my bones, I want him in the air so he can feed my body as much as he feeds my mind, and I want him in my blood cells - he keeps me alive in more ways that one, anyway. But I'm also afraid to want him, or maybe I'm afraid of what comes after wanting him. I'm afraid of what comes after he gets under my clothes, or after he crawls under my skin, or after I inhale him inside of my organism - if I do that, I'm putting a weapon in his hands and I've seen too many lovers become enemies in a short span of time. If I let him in, entirely, I'm realigning myself into an atomic bomb.

No one should have that much power over another person, but I don't think that's something I or anyone else has a say in. Letting another person in, literally, is only an official invite because, when we give someone our love, we hand them the most powerful weapon there is. Should I let him in as soon as possible? Is he more dangerous not knowing the power he has over me?

I don't know, this is my first time loving someone. Maybe I'll be smarter next time, but now I have to let anyone but my mind decide what my next move is.

So, when we start moving backwards, when we reach the counter, when it starts poking at my bones, and when he decides to raise me on the top of it, I let him. When his lips move down, next to my collar bone, where there's no cookie dough, I let him. I moan. My legs hug his waist, circling it, rising his shirt up. And when he moves my bra strap from my shoulder in order to plant kisses there as well, I let him. I plunge my nails in the skin of his muscles.

His hands are on my hips, holding me in place, like I'm a prisoner of my own desire. The tips of his fingers travel underneath my sweater and I would lie if I said it doesn't feel good to have another coat of skin in spots mine is spread thin.

I'm mesmerized by the fact that I have enough space in my head to think in a situation like this. But I do, and I think of the first time I thought he has a beautiful smile, the first time I wondered what his lips taste like, the time I tried to find the exact shade of the color of his eyes in the color palette and all the times I've thought about him and reprimanded myself for it because he was a forbidden territory even for my thoughts to explore.

I think of all the ways I love him.

But I don't get to show it to him because someones cough which is, in this case, more of a signal than a necessity. He detaches his lips from my skin, and he detaches himself from me, but still shields my body with his.

I peer from behind his shoulder only to see Damon standing there, leaning against the door frame, with a smug look on his face.

"Baking?" he asks, looking at the cookie dough spread neatly inside of a bowl. And some other places.

Neither of us answers and, out of some reason, that deepens his smile.

"Just make sure you don't leave the oven on for too long. It's already too hot in here."

* * *

"Is it really snowing?" he asks excitedly.

I move the curtain away from the window to assure myself it's still snowing, even though I've already checked literally two minutes ago.

"Yes," I exhale tiredly at the sight of snow. It's been snowing non stop ever since we came here.

"And now?" he asks again, childlike excitement audible in his voice. Stefan has never seen snow. It's often rainy and windy in Mystic Falls, but it never snows.

"Stefan.." I say his name as a warning, but a light laugh sneaks into my voice, simply because it's him.

Nevertheless, he notices that something's wrong. "Okay, okay," he starts dropping the subject, "Just take pictures."

I let the curtain slip back from my finger to its rightful place. "Will do," I try to make myself sound as cheerful as possible, but the tone of my voice betrays me.

"You don't sound very christmassy, love," he notices with a heavy heart, "Is there something wrong?"

"Yeah. A lot of things."

"Like..?" he asks, pushing me to talk about it, even though I don't really want to. But then, on the other hand, I do.

"Well," I lean my head against the flowery wall, "The snow is prohibiting me from leaving the house, and I really want to leave the house. There are too many people here. We gather here every year only because aunt Helen's house is big enough to host us all."

I'm not exaggerating, aunt Helen's house is as big as a castle. You could fit a small village inside.

"And when I say all, I mean every single living relative of the Gilbert clan living in the driving distance. Even though some of them don't even look alive."

He chuckles at that.

"Also, I miss you," I say in a hushed tone of voice. "And I wish you were here."

"I know. I wish you were here as well."

"What are you up to, anyway?"

"Not much." I can see him shrugging his shoulders in my head, playing with the hem of his shirt with his free hand. "Damon and I are going to have dinner, then probably watch some of those cheesy Christmas movies."

As he utters those words, my cheeks flame up out of shame. Here I am, complaining about my perfect, warm Christmas with my family and snow he has never seen or felt on his skin, while all he has is his brother and, probably, two day old takeout.

"Mm, cheesy Christmas movies, I love those," I try to hide the shame and the guilt, but I'm aware of its still presence in my voice.

"Well, maybe we can watch them when you come back."

The image of the two of us lying on the bed, eating cookies and watching Christmas movies puts a smile on my face. In this moment, there's nothing I'd rather do.

So I reply, my voice full of smiles - "Definitely."

* * *

After the dinner men go to the living room to unbutton their pants and talk about the sports or whatever else men talk about and women take care of the dishes. Year after year I'm amazed, and a bit disgusted, by this patriarchal environment. My father never abandons my mother when it comes to washing dishes, even though she rarely lets him help - still, he sits there and keeps her company. Some of the women in our family, though, do everything for their husbands.

I still help with the dishes, but only because my mother says it's a proper thing to do. Mental note: Never marry a man who expects you to be 19th century kind of proper.

Once everything is done, everyone go to sleep because they're too tired to do anything else. Perfect opportunity to make myself a cup of hot cocoa.

"Elena, dear," I hear a voice coming from behind me as soon as I start heating the milk. "I didn't know you're still up."

I turn around since, at first, I don't recognize the voice. Probably because I hear it so rarely. I see aunt Helen in her flowery nightgown - everything in her house has a flower pattern, even the toilet paper - walking towards me.

"I wanted some hot cocoa before going to bed," I explain.

"Ah. That's nice," she nods. "I forgot my pills down here. Again. Never get old," her words are followed by a light laughter, but they sound more like a warning. "Tell me, honey, what's new in your life?"

"Oh, nothing much," I shrug. I really don't want to talk about my personal life with aunt Helen, no matter how sweet she is.

"How are your grades?"

"Very well," I say proudly.

"Good, that's good. Education is important," she exhales in a way all old people do - like life could leave them any second now. "And boys? Do you have a boyfriend?"

After that question, I don't say anything. I don't make a single sound.

I guess I stay silent for too long because she laughs, amused by the lack of words coming out of my mouth, and says - "That means yes. Was the diary I sent you helpful?"

"Yes," I shoot without thinking. I just wanted to break the silence, I never wanted to be this truthful.

"Oh, have the dreams started already?" she whispers.

Every muscle in my body becomes rigid and every inch of my skin turns ice cold. I don't have it in me to turn around and face her. How does she know about my dreams?

"They have, haven't they?" she says sadly. She's aware that this is a secret she's not supposed to know. "I do wonder have his started yet.."

"Aunt Helen," I turn around, deciding on the best possible course of action - playing stupid. "What are you - "

But she interrupts me in the middle of the sentence. "Go to the attic, you'll find answers there," she gives me a pointed look before yanking one of the drawers open. "Ah, here they are," she takes a white, plastic bottle out of the drawer and shakes it happily. "Night, darling, I'll see you tomorrow," she smiles at me, as if nothing has happened, and walks out of the kitchen, leaving me standing there, completely and utterly stunned.

I try to fight the urge to go to the attic - she's crazy! Still, that doesn't explain how she knows about the dreams. My dreams, his dreams.. is he dreaming about the same things I'm dreaming about? Why didn't he tell me?

My curiosity overrules every other feeling I might have and I basically run towards the attic. When I reach the second floor I slower my pace in order not to wake everyone up, at least until I reach the stairs leading towards the attic.

You can't even call that place an attic - it's not dark, filthy or damp. It's a nice smelling, cozy room with a lot of junk in it. Jeremy and me used to play hide and seek there.

I look around, trying to find what I need. Trying to find an answer. Trying to find something that looks like it might hold a secret.

Then, probably thanks to aunt Helen's tidiness, I see it - a big, wooden handmade chest, an almost stereotypical hiding place.

Once I approach it, I find out it's unlocked, so I push the lid open. When I look inside, I'm instantly met with a picture of a face identical to my own. I reach inside of it and take the picture out of the chest - there are two girls my age on the picture. One that resembles aunt Helen, and the one that resembles me - big brown eyes, short curly brown hair, smooth smile, soft skin.

I know that girl. I know her from my dreams.

I turn the picture around. In the lower right corner, in a neat handwriting, lies written - _Helen and Danielle, 1939_.

Some kind of uneasiness gets stuck in my spine.

I look inside, once again, and notice a book - it was hidden underneath the picture. I reach for it only to find out it's not really a book.

It's a notebook.

A diary.

I inhale deeply as I open it. I know that I'm violating somebody's privacy.

I start reading. The entry dates to _November, 1944_.

 _"Dear Diary, my name is Danielle Gilbert and there's something terribly wrong with me."_


	14. Chapter 14

_**January, 1945**_

 _"Dear diary,_

 _the dreams came back. All the relief I felt in the time they were gone turned into suffocating anxiety. I woke up in my bed, drenched in sweat, hazy and delirious. I feel like I lost time. Like I fell asleep and woke up in another century, in someone else's body, someone else's life. But when I look into the mirror, I recognize my reflection staring back at me, and when I walk into the kitchen I know that the woman standing in front of the stove is my mother. I am me, but I don't feel like myself, I feel like million other people rolled into one."_

 ** _April, 1945_**

 _"..Frank dreams as well, but not like I do._

 _He dreams about his comrades, the ones who died on the battlefield, and he dreams about the bomb that almost took his life away. He can hear the violent sound of gunfire drumming in his ears during the day, but he says it gets louder in the still of the night._

 _My dreams never get violent, they're blissful. Sometimes I envy the people inside of my head. Sometimes I want to be them. Sometimes I am.."_

 ** _September, 1945_**

 _"Dear diary,_

 _Frank asked me to marry him today. I said yes. There's not a scenario in which I would say no. I carry his demons, and he carries mine."_

 ** _September, 1945_**

 _"Dear diary,_

 _I'm getting married tomorrow, on the last day of September. I dreamed about getting married, but not like other girls do. I didn't look like myself, and neither did Frank. My dress was outdated, like the one my mother wore, or maybe my mothers mother. But it felt right."_

 ** _January, 1946_**

 _"Dear diary,_

 _I was pregnant. I'm not anymore. I miscarried. I lost the baby I didn't even know I had. Granny Anne said it makes sense, her sister couldn't carry out a pregnancy either. I didn't know Granny Anne had a sister._

 _Her words infuriated me, even though I know she's ill and doesn't mean any harm, but nothing about losing a baby makes any sense."_

A tiny beam of daylight coming through the small window on the roof tells me it's time to pick myself up and go downstairs. My eyes are closing by themselves, my eyelids as heavy as lead.

I'm sleepy. I'm tired. My limbs are numb, my lips dry, my skin covered with goosebumps. I'm sick to my stomach.

I look at the old wooden chest, still open, still full of journals I heaven't gone through. There were only as many hours of the night to go through three of them. Three journals full of life, full of fear, full of mystery. Three journals so unreal, so nerve wrecking, bordering with crazy. I would write them off as fiction if it weren't for my dreams, if words in them weren't so close to the words I would use to describe my life. My feelings, my state of mind.

Up until now, Danielle was a girl from my dreams. I could write her off as a figment of my imagination. Not anymore, not now when I've found out that she was, or is, a real person. Someone who aunt Helen obviously knows. Someone related to her, to me, to us.

I shake my head and stretch my limbs. I put the journals back in the chest, except the one I haven't finished reading, and I close the chest, leaving it just like I first found it.

This attic got too comfortable for my liking, so I decide to wake up my legs by jumping on them. I press the journal against my chest, keeping it close to me.

The house is so still, so quiet, so empty. Everyone are probably still in their beds, ready to wake up any minute now. I rush down the hall, and then down the stairs, before everyone decide to wake up and disrupt this peace.

Coffee. I need coffee. And a slap in the face with a dead fish.

"Elena, honey," I hear aunt Helen's sweet voice when I walk into the kitchen, chirping my name like a little blue bird from Cinderella. She studies my face, then moves her look to the journal I'm clutching in my hands. "Dear God, child," she raises the tone of her voice with a shocked expression on her face, "Did you get any sleep last night?"

Does it really show? Are my eyes red? Do I have dark circles under them?

I shake my head _no_. "Coffee," I murmur, like a man on deathbed, "I need coffee."

"Come, come," she urges me forward, inviting me towards herself with a slow motion of her hand. "I was just about to make some for myself."

I walk over to small kitchen table and sit down on a hard, wooden chair that, in this moment, seems like the most comfortable piece of furniture I've ever seen. She fills the coffee pot with water and turns on the stove.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" she breaks the silence.

"I didn't even know I was looking for it," I say, baffled by the words that come out of my mouth. I wasn't aware my brain is in the state to produce simple, four letter words, let alone coherent sentences.

She takes two cups of coffee out of the kitchen cabinet and chuckles. "In life, the most important things we find are the ones we didn't know we're looking for."

 _Gee, thanks Dumbledore._

"Who is Danielle?" I ask with a husky voice.

Aunt Helen reaches for the coffee jar. She unscrews it and the lid makes an to the ear uncomfortable clicking sound. She takes a tea spoon out of the drawer and puts two spoons of coffee in the each cup.

"She _was_ my sister," she puts the emphasis on the word _was_.

"Your sister?" I ask, surprised by this discovery, even though my brain decides to remove any indication of it from my voice.

"Yes," she nods, dropping two sugar cubes in each cup. "My big sister."

It's weird to think of aunt Helen as of someone who has a big sister.

"Do you see her in your dreams?" she asks, throwing me off.

"I did. Once," I decide to be honest since she obviously knows what's going on. Maybe even better than me.

"When? How?" she asks curiously, obviously dying to know in which scenario I've seen her sister who's no longer in her life.

As I try to think of the best way to describe that dream, I realize that she's not curious, she's hungry for memories. She's collecting them, like some people collect postcards or stamps or coins. And like every other devoted collector, as time goes by she's running out of new discoveries.

"During the war. She was a nurse, and she was in the field."

She laughs. "I remember how horrified my mother was at the thought of her working. And then Danielle goes off and signs herself up for a war nurse! My mother was crying, and when she wasn't crying she was screaming that she raised a fool. I thought she was brave."

"She met Frank there," I point out, like she doesn't already know that.

"Yes, yes she did," she nods, and the boiling water starts whistling on the stove. "She patched him up, and when a woman fixes a man he really has no other choice than to fall in love with her. He was a lovely young man. Handsome as well. I remember when Danielle brought him home for the first time, all the girls in our neighborhood went green with envy! She was far prettier than all of them combined, though. You remind me of her, you know?" she mumbles. I can't keep up with her train of thought.

I swallow. "What happened to them?"

She pours hot water in the cups and fresh smell of coffee wakes up all of my senses. "I don't know," she exhales sadly. Tiredly. Like she asked herself that question few times too many.

She puts the hot cup of coffee in front of me and I reach for it, not even worrying about burning myself.

"They were in love. She loved him more than I've ever seen my sister love anything in her whole life, and he was completely taken with her. But after several months, they started acting strange. My mother thought it's because she had two miscarriages, but I knew there's something else. Until, one day, she came to me and told me everything. About how, for more than a year, she's been having these strange dreams of her past lives, how they're affecting her mentally, emotionally and physically. Frank started having them too."

Frank as well? Does that mean Stefan has them too? Or is going to have them?

"She said there's more, but than she can't tell me because I wouldn't understand. She gave me her diaries," she points her eyes towards the journal I'm still clutching with my free hand. "And told me to keep them, that to someone they might be of help someday. I have no idea how she knew, but she asked me not to show them to anybody until I'm sure I'm showing them to the right person. And she begged me to keep quiet, not to tell a word to anyone, including our parents."

"And did you?" I urge her to tell me.

"Never!" she shakes her head, almost insulted by that question. "Also, where would I even begin? I didn't even know that that day my sister was saying goodbye to me. Tomorrow, her and Frank were gone."

"Gone?" I gasp.

She nods with a sad expression on her face. "They left, and they didn't bring anything with them. No clothes, no money. The police filed them as missing, but they never solved their case. Our whole family was distraught, our parents especially. My mother wouldn't leave her room for weeks, until our youngest sister announced that she's expecting. She had a baby boy, your father. With that, everyone started slowly.. forgetting."

My grandparents died in a car crash few months after my birth. I guess aunt Helen has always been my supplement grandmother.

"And you?" I ask.

I can't imagine myself moving on from such a thing, or forgetting it as everyone else do.

"For me, it wasn't so easy to move on or let go. After all, I was the last one to see my sister alive and well, and I was leading an inner battle with my own demons - should I tell everything, or should I keep quiet like she asked me to? I chose the second option because I trusted my sister and my sense of loyalty was greater than anything else. Maybe that was my mistake, and maybe that was my sisters demise, and that's something I have to live with and ask myself every single day."

I guess now I understand why aunt Helen never married or had family of her own. I always wondered how come such kind, warm and lovely woman never found someone to share her life with. Now I know that she never found someone because she had something, and that something took up too much space.

"You never found out what happened to them?" I push one more time, curious to know is there one more secret that she's hiding.

"No," she shakes her head, the look in her eyes distant, "For a long time, I didn't even read those journals. Not until my Granny died. Few days before she died, she told me she can't wait to see where her sister went, that she can't wait to discover are they going to end up in the same place. I didn't even know she had a sister, so I didn't pay much attention to her words because she suffered from dementia. At least, not until she said that she thinks her sister went to the same place Danielle did. That's when I started reading Danielle's journals only to discover that Granny Anne gave Danielle all of her sisters journals as well. Apparently, the similar scenario happened in our family back then."

"And what was her sisters name?"

"Eliza," she says.

 _Eliza. Oh._

"By the look on your face I'm guessing you know her," she comments.

I snicker. "Only from my dreams."

"You know, I became obsessed with finding the right person and for a long, long time I thought that I never will. Until you were born. You started reminding me of my sister since you were a small child, so when you grew up into the spited image of her all I could feel was relief. And then terror, when I realized the same destiny awaits you. I'm so sorry, Elena.."

"I.. I'll figure out what's going on. I'll stop this, I'll stop it from happening, whatever it might be," I say, even though I don't sound too sure in myself.

"Of course," she nods, not too sure in me either. "But tell me dear, are you in the business of fixing someone yet? I guess you are, if the dreams already started."

In our situation, it's the other way around. Or maybe, it's mutual.

"Do you think I could take those journals with me?" I ask.

"Of course, dear. They're yours."

I take another sip of my coffee before my senses start falling asleep again.

"Thank you."

* * *

When my dad sees the old wooden chest he has to load into our truck, he grunts but doesn't ask many questions. Maybe that's why my mother feels free to take ownership over his portion of curiosity as well.

 _Where are you going to place it? What do you need it for? Why do you need it?_ Holiday cheer and too many muffins in my belly is what stops me from exploding at her in the middle of aunt Helen's driveway, where we're literally buried in the snow, so I reply wistfully - _it has a personality, it has history, it's a perfect place to store books._

I take my phone out and send a picture of the knee deep snow to Stefan and, soon after, like he's been waiting for my message, my phone buzzes.

 _"Jealous! U coming home?"_

 _"Yes! See you in few hours!"_ I type.

 _"Can't wait to see u ;)"_ he sends back.

That wink at the end of the sentence makes me bite my lip, thinking about how we left things before I went away. If Damon hadn't walked in, how far would we go?

We say goodbye to the rest of our family - most of these people we won't see until next Christmas - and when I hug aunt Helen goodbye, she whispers in my ear that if I ever need something, her doors are always open to me.

On our way back home, which is a two hour drive, I think about how I still don't have any answers to any of the questions that start with _why_. Like, why is this happening to me? Why did it happen to people before me?

What is the source of this evil and how do I stop it? Are we cursed?

Thinking about Stefan takes up the most of my time, though. I haven't seen him for almost a week and my lips are aching for his, and my skin is wailing for his touch.

Do I tell him about what I've discovered? Do I tell him everything? Do I burden him with my secrets?

I remember what Danielle wrote in one of her entries. " _I carry his demons, and he carries mine."_

I don't decide on should I tell him or not, but I do decide that, if I do tell him, it won't be today.

 _"Come over?"_ I send him a message once we're 15 minutes away from Mystic Falls.

 _"Already there"_ he responds, and I do my best not to squeal.

There's no trace of snow in Mystic Falls. Actually, there's barely any trace of winter in this town. You can barely see Christmas decorations on people's houses from the sunlight.

When my dad pulls in our driveway, I see Stefan sitting on the steps of our porch, playing with his phone, fumbling it between his fingers.

"Is that Stefan?" my mother asks, as if the answer to that question is not obvious. Of course it's Stefan. Who else would it be?

"Yup," I say, as I basically eject myself out of the car.

I approach him with a running step and when he sees me coming he stands up, making preparations for me to fall into his arms. I crash into his body, my limbs numb with anticipation, and I throw my arms around his neck, clinging on to him like I never want to let him go. And I don't. He puts his arms around my waist, his fingers sinking deep into my flesh.

I bury my face in his neck and murmur into his skin - "I've misses you so, so much."

"Same," he replies, his breath tangled in my hair.

"Stefan," my mothers tight voice interrupts us and pushes our bodies far, far away from one another. "It's lovely to see you. How were your holidays?" she asks with genuine interest.

"Fine, thank you for asking," he answers politely.

"Are you hungry? We have some leftovers.." she says before her thoughts drift off to the inside of our fridge, where limitless amount of Christmas leftovers reside.

"No, thank you, I ate," he smiles, and I wonder about what did he actually eat during the holidays. Was it anything remotely similar to Christmas food?

"Mom, we're leaving," I announce, tugging Stefan's arm.

"Leaving?" her eyes go wide, like I mean forever.

"Yeah. For a walk," I explain.

"But we just got back!" the alarm in her head goes off.

"Mom, we've been literally trapped inside of the same house for four days," I roll my eyes at her reaction.

"Miranda.." my dad says her name with a warning, from afar, and she pulls her lips into a long, tight, unsatisfied line.

"Fine," she exhales. "Go, go," she waves us off, like she's shooing us. My dad winks at me, and I smile.

She really doesn't have to tell me twice. I turn around on my heel and pull Stefan with me. He stumbles.

"How did you come here?" I inquire, once we're far away for her not to hear us.

"I walked."

I groan. "Now we really have to take a walk."

"Why, Miss. Gilbert, did you have something else in mind?" he asks, feigning shock. "I'm appalled."

I give him a look with my eyebrow already in the air. "Shut up."

* * *

On our way to his place, I tell him everything about how I've spent my Christmas. A lot of screaming cousins, curious relatives, too much food, too much snow. I don't complain, though, it would be rude to complain about something he would probably kill for to have. He tells me about the way he spent Christmas, with Damon and some of his friends who brought lots and lots of food, more than he ever imagined possible, and that puts me at ease.

Before we walk into his house, he tells me that Damon is not home. But then again, he wasn't home last time either.

Still, that doesn't stop me from basically straddling him once we get inside. I go straight for his lips which are waiting for me, luring me, inviting me in.

"Do you have any idea how much I've missed you?" I murmur between the kisses.

"Hmm," he puts his arms around me, pulling me closer to him. I have to stay on my toes for my face to be in line with his. "Pretty sure I do," he hums, "Because I've missed you just the same."

I smile before kissing him again, softly, tenderly, on the lips. My arms are around his neck, and his are around my waist, and we're holding on to each other for dear life. We move into the living room where we find the couch soon enough. He's the first one to fall, and I place my body on the top of his.

I took my coat off during our walk here. At aunt Helen's, if I went outside, I would freeze even if I had two sweaters and a coat on. Five minutes in Mystic Falls and I'm sweating. I can still feel little drops of sweat on my back under my fuzzy sweater. He, on the other hand, is dressed in the lightest hoodie the clothing industry has ever managed to produce.

"Do we have plans for New Year?" he asks while dragging his hands _lower, lower, lower_ down my body.

"Umm," I put my palms against his chest - God, the material is so thin that I can basically feel his skin on the skin of my open palm - and place a kiss in the corner of his lips. "You actually want to go somewhere?"

"Yeah," he hitches the hem of my sweater up and his fingers crawl inside of it, tracing my spine. I feel tingly all over. "Why not?"

I smile while kissing his jaw. His bone structure is so amazing that it should be pronounced an 8th world miracle. Or at least get its own theme park. "Who are you and what have you done to my socially awkward boyfriend?"

He laughs, dragging the tips of his fingers across my stomach. "He learned how to compromise."

"Mm, I like that," I say, referring both to his words and his fingers on my skin.

"Damon is seeing someone. She sent pumpkin muffins. I didn't know people make pumpkin muffins but I'm thankful to her that she introduced them to me."

My stomach rumbles. "Pumpkin muffins sound so good right now."

"Want some?"

"Do you have to get up to get them?"

He laughs. "Yes."

"Can you take me with you?"

He tightens his hold on me and stands up with me in his arms, like I weigh nothing.

"Always," he responds.

* * *

 _AN: I really don't appreciate hostile reviews. You're not obligated to read this story if waiting for updates takes too long for you, or if you're unsatisfied out of any other reason. I update when I can. Unfortunately, I don't have time to do it as regularly as I did before since I have other obligations._

 _Enjoy!_


	15. Chapter 15

"Elena!" Caroline screams, my name creating an echo in Bonnie's tiny bedroom. She empties her lungs before running in my direction - even though there are only four steps she needs to take in order to reach me - and throwing her arms around my neck. She squeezes me tightly, pulling my body closer to hers and knocking all the air out of me in the process. "Oh my God," her breath tickles the skin on my neck, "I've missed you so much!" She's acting like we haven't seen each other in centuries. That's Caroline for you, always more dramatic than the situation demands. I hug her back, feeling blessed to have someone like her in my life. "How was your Christmas?" she asks excitedly while peeling her skin off of mine.

"A lot of people. A lot of screaming. But good food," I tell her the same thing I told her when she sent me a text while I was still at aunt Helen's.

"And how is dear aunt Helen doing?" she asks. She doesn't have any elderly relatives, so she's enchanted by mine, which I have no problem with.

I shrug, like I've barely seen her during my stay there, and respond while trying to avoid her look. "Strange," I say, scrunching my nose like there's something tickling me inside of my nostrils. "As always."

"Mhmm," she hums. "But, did you bring any cheese sticks with you?" the words pour out of her mouth hopefully.

I roll my eyes with a smile on my face. "Yes. You can come by my house whenever you want," I wink at her. "Enough about me! How was your Christmas?"

"Awful," Bonnie enters the room at the same time I ask that question and feels free enough to answer it first, "Mom burned the chicken and put too much mayo in the sauce." She puts the tray with three mugs full of thick, hot chocolate and dozen of tiny marshmallows dipped inside, on the wooden coffee table. Caroline and me sit on the sofa next to the coffee table and reach for our respected mugs. "And my dad rushed to work on Christmas day under the excuse that the stock market never sleeps!"

Bonnie's mom is a housewife, just like mine. She has the wife part handled pretty well, but the house? Not so much. Her dad is almost never home - he comes, he sleeps, he goes. There are times when she doesn't see him for days simply because their paths never meet, which is something I can't imagine since I see both of my parents daily. They even insist we all have dinner together every single day, which can be somewhat exhausting.

She exhales, not to attract attention or to make a point, but because she can't believe she's talking about this again. She's tired of complaining about it when she knows there's nothing she can do to change it. "Anyway, it's not like I'm not used to it already," she says in order to avoid the awkward silence that would surely follow afterwards.

"Well, my dad left the country. Hell, he left the continent! Kevin and him went skiing, to Aspen!" she says Kevin's name with a certain amount of irritation in her voice.

"He didn't even invite you to come along?" I ask, a bit surprised. Her father distanced himself from her life ever since he came out as gay and met Kevin, but he's not a douche.

"Well, he did," she pulls her lips into a tight, straight line, angry to admit that her dad is not a completely bad guy in this story. "But, what am I supposed to do with him and his lover on the other side of the world!? Plus," she lowers her voice before uttering the following words, "I couldn't leave my mom all alone on Christmas."

"You have a point there," Bonnie chimes in.

"I'm sorry," I say at the same time, truly sorry for bringing it up in the first place.

Bonnie and Caroline have never had a happy family life. As much as Caroline loves her mom, her flawed relationship with her dad somehow always swims up on the surface and makes a hostage out of a potentially happy story. While Bonnie might have her family under one roof, they're never together, they're never unified. Not even during Christmas. Stefan's parents are completely out of the picture. He lives in constant state of fear of one coming back and sadness of one not being able to do so.

And then there's me, one who has a perfectly happy family life and still manages to complain.

"It's okay," Caroline shrugs once she decides her dad doesn't deserve one more minute of her time. "That's life for you."

"Christmas sucked, but New Years Eve is going to be better, right?" Bonnie asks hopefully.

"Yes!" Caroline exclaims, clearly excited about the prospect of it. "Tyler's parents will be out of town," she says as if Tyler's parents are ever in town. They come and they go, like ghosts. "So he's throwing a party, of course."

Bonnie cocks her eyebrow with a frown on her face. "Not exactly what I had in mind. Drunk football players, kegs and snacks?"

Caroline's face adapts a disgusted face expression, offended Bonnie would even think she would ever spend her New Years Eve in such a surrounding.

"I'm pushing for a theme party," she clarifies. "Champagne, finger food and half drunk football players. How does that work for you?" she asks, condescending.

Bonnie crosses her arms across her chest. "Better. Do you think Stefan would go for that?" she directs her question to me.

"Yes," I nod.

"You sound sure," Caroline states, completely needlessly.

I furrow my brows. "I am," I say firmly. I'm honestly not at all concerned about Stefan accepting the invite. I'm more concerned about everyone else accepting him into our wide and not so tight group of friends. But that's a conversation to have at another time.

"Then it's settled, we're celebrating New Years Eve at the mayor's house, in style," she winks. Sometimes I forget that Tyler's mom is the city mayor. I think that sometimes Tyler forgets as well. "On another note," she presses her open palm on her stomach with a sad expression on her face, "I'm starving. Do you have anything tasty for me, Bonnie?" she asks like a child who's awaiting a reward after a job well done.

Bonnie smiles coyly, like she's been anticipating this question. "I think I have some pumpkin muffins left lying around," she winks.

Caroline claps excitedly. "You're amazing!" she exclaims, sending air kisses in Bonnie's direction.

Just as she gets up to leave the room to serve Caroline something to eat, the wheels in my brain start turning and turning, creating an awfully loud noise. Pumpkin muffins, pumpkin muffins..

My eyes go wide with surprise and shock once I finally connect the dots. Pumpkin muffins!

"I have to pee," I place my mug back on the table, get up in a hurry and rush towards the door, after Bonnie.

"Umm, thanks for letting me know!" I hear Caroline's confused voice following me out of the room.

I make my way towards the kitchen where I find Bonnie arranging juicy, delicious, orange muffins on a plate.

"So, a funny thing happened the other day," I cross my arms across my chest and lean on the door frame, wooden edge carving itself into my shoulder blade.

She jumps in place upon hearing my voice. "Elena!" she exclaims my name, "You startled me!"

"I'm sorry," I say apologetically while staring at her with a serious look in my eyes which does not match my tone of voice.

She doesn't seem to notice it because she turns her back to me and continues arranging muffins. "So, what happened the other day?" she asks.

"I went to Stefan's place after I came back from aunt Helen's. I was hungry," only God knows how, since at aunt Helen's I ate more than I eat in a month, but I was, "And Stefan offered me pumpkin muffins some girl Damon is seeing made."

As I say those words, she obviously stiffens, but doesn't say a word.

"I must have been so hungry that I completely ignored the fact that there's only one person I know that makes pumpkin muffins. I completely forgot about it," I exhale, realizing how stupid I was. "Until now."

She stops arranging the muffins and places her palms against the surface of the counter top. She stays still and silent, awaiting my next move.

I inhale, hoping I would find some extra strength in the air. "Bonnie, do you have a thing with Stefan's brother?" I ask, straight forward.

Her shoulders get even more tense, if possible. Her knuckles become white, pale, as she squeezes her hands into a fist. And that's how I know it's true before she says a word.

"It's not what you think," she says.

"Oh my God," those words leave me against my own free will, flying out of my mouth into the air where they start inflating, becoming bigger and bigger with each passing second.

"Can we please not do this here?" she looks in the direction of her room.

I take it Caroline doesn't know either.

"Please?" she pleads with a hopeful look in her eyes.

I pull my lips into a thin line. "Fine," I say, freeing my hands only to point a finger at her, "But I demand an explanation.

* * *

"Okay," I say as soon as we settle ourselves in our own, private booth, away from the crowd. "Talk," I say in a commanding manner.

Caroline took her job as a New Years Eve party co-organizer very seriously - after Bonnie and me came back to her room, she informed us that she has to split to meet up with Tyler in order to convince him that her way is the right way. Knowing her, it will be easy peasy. She's very persuasive and Tyler doesn't know how to say no to her.

Bonnie asked me if we could take this outside, which made me feel like we're starring in a lousy gangster movie. Somehow, we ended up at The Grill - all roads lead to The Grill.

"Okay, okay," she inhales deeply, slowly preparing herself for the conversation we're about to have. "So, um, yeah.. I do have a thing with Damon.." she says shyly.

"Eww. Gross," I say, my reaction resembling one of a child.

She rolls her eyes, continuing the story. "Soon after you went away for the Summer, I started working at the gas station. He would come there at least twice a week." That makes sense - Damon commutes to work, so he probably spends a lot on gas. "We started talking," she says, shying her look away from me. I can understand that because I do it as well, when I share my memory of Stefan, a memory that until that moment was mine and mine only and, therefor, something intimate. Sharing it with others always seems a bit.. inappropriate. "Sometimes, he was the only person I would get to talk to in hours, especially during the night. I remembered him from school. He, of course, did not remember me," she smiles. Damon was a senior when we were freshmen and we all talked about how dreamy he is with his big, blue eyes and dark as night hair. I guess I've acquired a different taste over the years. "At first, he would stay for few more minutes than he needed to. Soon, those minutes got two digits and he started coming by more often, even when he clearly didn't need anything."

"And?" I ask curiously, as if I'm listening to some made up story and not a real life event I should be angry at my friend for keeping from me.

"Well, he made it clear to me from the get go that he's not looking for a relationship, which I was fine with. I was down for a casual, Summer fling."

"What changed?" I ask.

"Well, it didn't end with the Summer, obviously," she makes a point. "He doesn't want to label our.. well, whatever it is we have. Even Stefan uses terminology like _'some girl he's seeing'_ , like he can stop seeing me whenever he wants. He doesn't want to introduce me to his brother or his friends, but he wants me in his house for Christmas. It's confusing," she shrugs, clearly devastated by Damon's bipolar behavior.

"Salvatore men are very vague, I suppose. Not very good with words, either."

"Is Stefan like that as well?" she asks, almost hopefully. It would mean a great deal to her if she knew that she's not alone in this.

"Stefan is.." I pause, trying to find the right word to describe Stefan's behavior when it comes to the terms of our relationship. "Complicated," is how I choose to describe him. "Sometimes he assumes that I know what he's thinking or feeling. He assumes that some things are implied, so he doesn't mention them, but expects me to know that he's aware of them."

"So, he's emotionally stunted?" she asks.

"Sometimes, yeah," I smile warmly.

"Are you, like, really angry with me?" she asks quietly, like she's ashamed of having to ask that question. "I didn't know what to tell you guys, honestly," her defensive mechanism kicks in, "If it ended as a Summer fling, like it started, I would know what to tell you. I was so confused about what we have, I didn't know how to define it. I still don't."

"I'm not angry," I shake my head. I'm not sure I even have the right to be angry at her, since I haven't handled my situation with Stefan any better. "Caroline is going to be angry, though," I say. First me, now Bonnie - she'll have a feeling all her friends do is lie to her.

"I know," she slumps her shoulders.

"You knew about Stefan and me before I told you, didn't you?" I inquire, so I can tell myself _'told you so'_ more than anything else.

"Yes," she says somewhat apologetically, as if her secret overshadowed my secret, like it's some kind of a competition. "Accidentally. I saw you in their house one day, so I've put two and two together.."

Woah. It's freaky to think that we were in the same house at the same time and didn't even know about it..

"That's why you weren't angry with me," I say, feeling more victorious than I should. "You didn't feel entitled to your anger because you had a secret of your own."

She moves her eyes to the side, clearly ashamed, so I regret those words as soon as I notice her reaction. Before I get to think of my next move, Daisy joins us by the booth.

"Hey girls, what can I get you?" she asks cheerfully, pulling out a small pad out of her apron pocket.

"A lemonade," I say instantly, without giving it a second thought.

Bonnie looks at me, a soft smile dancing in her eyes. I'm not a big fan of lemonade - nothing so sour should taste so sweet - but she is.

"I'll have one too," she says.

"Got it," she says as she writes it down.

Really? She needed to write down two lemonades?

"Oh," she gasps, surprising us both. I thought she would be gone by now. "Elena, is that a new lipstick?"

"Umm.." I hum. I don't even think I'm wearing a lipstick. "No."

"Are you sure?" she asks, squinting at me. "You look different."

"Pretty sure."

"Well, whatever it is, it's working for you," she winks at me and flutters away, towards the bar.

"Wow," Bonnie says once she makes sure Daisy is out of earshot.

"That was weird," I retort.

"It was like she was coming on to you!" she says through her teeth, a sly smile on her lips.

An undeniable expression of shock appears on my face. "What!?"

"Oh, calm down," she rolls her eyes, "It's a compliment. Impressing a guy is easy. At our age, they get turned on by looking at wrapping paper. Impressing a girl is worthy of awe."

I cross my arms across my chest and push my back against the chair. "She wasn't coming on to me."

Bonnie wiggles her lips. "As you say.."

* * *

 _"Guess what? The girl your brother is seeing? BONNIE!"_

I text Stefan on my way back home, anxious to deliver him somewhat happy and shocking news.

He texts me back almost instantly.

 _"Oh.."_

I frown as my fingers start to vigorously type as if they have a mind of their own.

 _"Oh? YOU KNEW!?"_

I stare at my phone like I'm trying to conjure his text to appear on my screen.

 _"NO! But it makes sense, the two of them."_

 _"Really? Because it makes no sense whatsoever to me."_

 _"You don't know my brother.."_

Yeah, I don't. And maybe that's for the better. I'm not sure I would particularly like the guy.

I leave our conversation at that, because I have other things on my mind. Like Daisy and her weird comments. She's acting like we're the best of buds when, in reality, I don't even know her. I never see her outside of work - it's like she doesn't exist outside of The Grill.

Other than making weird comments, I often catch her staring at me. I never gave much thought into it simply because I thought it's easy to get distracted in her line of work. Imagine seeing so many different faces day after day. Sometimes, when I help my parents out around the restaurant, everyone start resembling someone I used to know, or still do.

All that thinking makes my brain heavy so when I come home I go straight to bed. I tell my mom I already ate, which I haven't, and that I'm super tired, so she lets me off the hook pretty easily.

When I come to my room I just take my jacket off and throw it over the chair, while I throw myself on the bed, snuggling with thick and fluffy covers.

I can feel myself drifting off to sleep, which is pretty weird. Usually I feel like the transition between my awake and sleepy state is controlled by a trigger - on, off. But now, I feel like someone is pulling me into sleep, and before I know it I'm not awake anymore, but I'm aware of myself and my existence. Usually when I dream I feel like I'm in some alternate universe where I'm me but at the same time I have nothing to do with myself. And the dreams I've been having recently felt more like an out of the body experience than an actual dream. This is something else, something third, something not connected with the first two ways of dreaming.

I'm standing on a meadow and the only thing I can see for miles and miles to come is grass. The grass is yellow - at first I think it's because of the very bright sun - but it's not yellow like the sun or the dandelion, but yellow like gold. My feet are bare and I'm wearing an olive green dress that reaches just under my knees. I look _up, up, up_ at the sky in order to see how come the sun shines so bright - there are two suns in the sky, settled very close to one another, their rays intertwining in one, big, shiny braid.

"Elpis!" I hear someones voice in the distance, calling for me worriedly. _Elpis_ , what a strange name, but it must be mine because upon hearing it I take over my role and turn around in the direction the voice is coming from.

I can see someone in the distance, running towards me, a tiny shape covered in the golden sun beams. "Elpis, Elpis, Elpis.." she screams while running, her voice becoming more hoarse with every passing second.

 _Hypatia_ is the name that crosses my mind. Is that her name? It must be a her, because the voice I've heard is so feminine that it reminds me of the sound flowers make as the wind caresses them. I can hear them giggling in my mind as the winds invisible hands tickle their stems.

The tiny shape is now closer to me and I realize that whoever it is, they're not running, they're flying. As the distance closes between us, I can clearly see that the person coming towards me is indeed a female - she has coal black hair tied into a big, high bun, ruby red lips, dark eyes that hold an expression of worry and anger, skin so white that it almost seems translucent and on her back there's a set of two big, red wings, flapping around in the wind. Hypatia is her name, my mind tells me, but I also know that she reminds me of someone else I know - _Daisy_.

"Are you blind? The suns are up! What are you doing outside?" she yells angrily at me, an ugly frown taking her face hostage. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Just as those words come out of her mouth her expression becomes serious and she screeches.

I notice that she's looking behind me, so I turn around only to see another shape flying towards me - this one is high in the sky, almost completely covering the sun. I know that the shape is male, his body is very muscular, and his flight is fast, like he's flying with the speed unknown to men. _Cleon_ , I think, and my heart starts beating faster.

He comes closer to me and I see a well known face, happiness and relief swelling in me. When he captures me with his arms, everything goes black.

I wake up - if I even was sleeping - and shoot like an arrow into a sitting position. I look around myself, trying to find some comfort in the familiar presence of my own bedroom, but everything around me feels weird. I feel weird.

I put my face in my hands and capture my entire head between my knees. _Breathe_.

My phone chimes. I reach for it, in case it's an emergency.

A text from Stefan.

 _"We need to talk! NOW! I'm coming over!"_

* * *

 _AN: I'm sorry for not updating for nearly a month. My life is chaos. Believe me, I would be the happiest if I could write every day so I can update several times per week._

 _Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrate, may all your wishes come true!_


	16. Chapter 16

I pull my covers over my head, trying to wrap my head around everything that has happened tonight - _how come I got so sleepy all of a sudden_ , is my first question. What made me so sleepy that I would go to bed on an empty stomach? I didn't do anything particularly tiring during the day, unless my conversation with Bonnie tired me psychologically and manifested physically.

Maybe the dreams I've been having lately disturbed my understanding of dreams, but the state I was in didn't feel like a dream at all. It felt like I was in a place where dreams and reality meet, some weird middle where I wasn't awake, but I wasn't asleep either.

Whatever. Enough thinking. It's not like I'll reach a reasonable solution in a matter of minutes, if one even exists, and Stefan is going to be here any minute now.

I throw my covers off of my body and swing my legs towards the floor, expecting to feel shivers all over my skin once my feet collide with the wooden floorboards, but once I press my feet against the floor all I can feel is the same warmth and fuzziness I've felt while I was in bed. I frown and look down at myself - I'm still wearing my day clothes! I didn't even take my damn clothes off before going to bed!

I shake my head and proceed leaving my bed. I put my boots and my coat on, tiptoeing my way out of my room while pushing my phone in the pocket of my coat. I can hear noises coming out of Jeremy's bedroom - what is he still doing up? I place my foot on the first step and pray that they don't squeak as I make my way downstairs. My prayers come true because I reach the dark, empty hallway without making a sound.

My phone chimes in my pocket. I reach for it, hoping the sound doesn't wake my parents up. It's a message for Stefan.

 _"I'm waiting for you around the corner."_

I let my phone fall back into my pocket, open the door as soundlessly and I can and slip through a crack. As soon as I close the door, I leave my front porch with a running step and make my way towards Stefan.

I see him leaning against his motorcycle, completely under dressed for this cold night, with his head bowed down.

"Stefan," I hiss his name through my teeth, angrily. "Why are you dressed like that?"

Upon hearing my voice he raises his head and I catch a confused, somewhat scared look in his eyes. My heart starts to throb, but I swallow all of my selfish pain. I reach out to him, wanting to ask him _what's wrong_ , but he pulls away from me. Is he.. is he afraid of me? My heart stops throbbing and turns into an open wound.

"What was that?" he asks, frightened, acting like any normal person facing the unknown would.

"What was what?" I act innocently, mainly because I refuse to face this. I refuse to accept this situation as our reality.

His expression doesn't change, though. He doesn't care if I'm lying or playing stupid, all he cares about it figuring this thing out and calming down his own fears.

"I.. I don't even know what it was, or how to describe it," he shakes his head, still keeping his distance from me. "It was a dream, but it didn't feel like a dream.."

"You had it as well?" I ask, completely surprised. Okay, so maybe I feign my surprise just a little bit because I had my doubts and suspicions since he texted me right after I woke up from a vague dream.

"I was reading, when suddenly I started feeling very, very sleepy," he says, remembering and retelling me the same thing I went through couple of hours ago. "I remember thinking how it makes no sense. It wasn't even that late and I slept well last night. I couldn't fight it, though.. I dozed off. I didn't fall asleep, I was still conscious and aware of myself.. it was like I was paralyzed," he talks slowly, stopping for few seconds after he pronounces several words in a row. He finally looks up at me, but doesn't move closer, "Was it like that for you as well?"

I nod slowly, unable to say a word, afraid of saying the wrong thing with the wrong tone of voice.

He chose the right word for it, one that didn't even occur to me up until now - paralyzed. I did feel paralyzed, like my insides aren't connected to my outsides. Like I'm stuck in the wrong body.

"I was in this weird place, like a cave. And I looked like myself, I even felt like myself, but at the same time I knew it's not me. At least not this version of me that's standing in front of you. I was folded in myself, waiting for something. But then I heard a scream, a name, and suddenly nothing else mattered. My blood started pumping through my veins faster than its supposed to, and my heart felt as heavy as a rock while it kept jumping up and down my chest. And then.." his eyes widen. He's mesmerized by the memory of his dream. "I flew. I flew out of the cave and saw two suns up in the sky. They were so close to me, but they didn't make my skin warm, they just brightened my way. I flew in the same direction the voice came from, a name echoing in my mind - _Elpis, Elpis, Elpis_."

I swallow hard, my eyes filling up with tears.

"And then I saw you," he says with an accusatory tone of voice. "Standing in the middle of the field with your back turned to me. I didn't see your face, but I knew that it was you - I would recognize you anywhere. You were staring at some woman. She had wings as well, but different than mine. They seemed light and paper thin, while mine felt heavy, like a burden I was meant to carry around for the rest of my life. The woman screamed when she saw me coming after you, like I'm some sort of a predator. You didn't make a sound, though, not even when I grabbed you and took you off the ground."

His look becomes piercingly hot, making me sweat. Stefan has never made me feel this way before - so afraid, so confused, so alone. From the moment he came into my life he was my rock, my safe place, my sanctuary. And now he's looking at me like I've betrayed him somehow, like all of this is my fault, like I'm less of a victim here than he is.

"Tell me," he says hoarsely, "Did you have the same dream?"

"Yes," I say weakly, but quickly, afraid that making him wait for an answer is only going to make the situation worse. "I was standing in the middle of the field because I was looking for something. Waiting for something. I was afraid because I knew it's dangerous to be there, especially alone, but that was the risk I was willing to take."

"Are those the dreams you've been having?"

"No," I shake my head wildly, feeling the strong need to defend myself, like this kind of dream is way worse than the dreams I usually have. It's not - it felt as equally real, private and intimate as the previous ones. The only difference is that, this time, he had it too. "This is the first ti - " I start, but he cuts me off.

"You know what?" he says while shaking his head. He takes his helmet in his hands and starts rolling it between his fingers. "I don't really want to know."

He doesn't even look at me before he puts his helmet on and sits on the top of his motorcycle.

"Stefan, wait," I say with a teary voice, feeling completely helpless, confused, abandoned..

I stretch my arm out towards him, but he starts the motorcycle and drives off, leaving me all alone in the middle of the street. I grab empty air, particles and star dust he leaves behind as he drives off.

There's ice on my skin and fire in my veins and my knees feel like jello and I have no idea what's keeping me from falling apart. I'm just one of the dominoes in a row - they've started falling, I can see them in the distance, their thick, black bodies covering one another - but it's not my time to fall yet.

I wish it was.

* * *

I drag myself back into my room as quietly as I left it, crawling under the cowers.

I feel empty, like someone robbed me of my insides and left me there to die, slowly and painfully.

I've never seen him so afraid and confused. I've never seen him look at me like that, like all of this is my fault, like I'm not as much of a victim in all of this as he is. The worst thing is that I somewhat understand him - we all need someone to blame.

I don't want to think about what all of this means. For me, for us. Are we broken up, are we taking a break, did some words roll off of our tongues without thinking them through? I don't want to think about impossible dreams or the consequences they carry, the effect they have on us.

I press my face into my pillow and squeeze my eyes shut, squeezing them until my skull starts to hurt, all to prevent tears from appearing in my eyes.

 _Fall asleep, fall asleep, fall asleep,_ I start screaming at my brain. Until I finally do.

* * *

"Dear God, Elena!" my mother exclaims when she sees me enter the kitchen. She slaps her palm over her mouth, horrified by my appearance. "You look horrible! Did you get any sleep last night?"

I did, actually. Few hours here and there. But did I get any rest? No. My body was at peace, but my mind was restless.

"Wow, mom," I roll my eyes even though I'm aware of my.. unattractive appearance. I've seen my reflection in the mirror, which is why I decided to put an extra amount of make up this morning. It didn't help much. "Thanks for the confidence boost."

I look at the rich selection of cereals we have in our kitchen cabinet and my stomach turns upside down. No breakfast for me today, I guess.

"I'm sorry sweetie, it's ju - " she starts, but I interrupt her before she gets to finish her thought. Not because I'm rude, but because I don't hear words coming out of her mouth - I hear a hum.

"Is it chilly outside?" I ask, biting my lip. "Do I need a hat?" I look at her and she gives me a confused look. "I need a hat," I answer my own question.

"Elena, is everything alright?" she asks as she watches me leave. I hear her more coherently now, but her words drill through my brain like a tornado.

"Yes, yes!" I try to ease her worry. "I'm simply in a hurry. I'm going out, I don't know when I'll be back.." I say, heading towards the stairs.

I enter my room with a running step and open the trunk aunt Helen gave me, looking for one diary in particular. I've marked it with a red scotch tape - just in case. I find it after several seconds of fumbling through the trunk and store it into the pocket of my jacket.

"Elena, will you at least eat something?" I hear my mother yell from the kitchen when I reach the end of the stairs.

No, no food, but I remember seeing a fresh coffee pot resting on the top of our kitchen island. I shake my head - it's too late now. I'll have to survive without that magical elixir, for now.

"Not hungry!" I say, leaving the house in a hurry before she gets to ask anymore questions.

I hurry towards my car, holing up in its safety. I push my back into the seat, exhaling loudly as I put my seat belt on.

I realize I didn't even think of looking for a hat.

I am doing the right thing. I have to get this out of my system and it's not like I can talk to any of my friends. What would I even tell them? That Stefan and me broke up? And why? I don't want to make a bad guy out of him by telling them a lie, and the truth is not the option. I don't even know what the truth is.

I turn the engine on and start driving. I think about stopping for a cup of coffee along the way, but I discard that thought pretty quickly. It would only be a chance for me to change my mind and turn around. So I keep on driving towards my destination, the diary tucked safely in my pocket. I pull in front of the house, inhaling deeply like I'm trying to inhale iron strength instead of air. I check for the diary one last time before leaving the car - I feel like it's an essential part of me, at least today, but I can't feel it like I can feel my lungs pulsing in my body. I make my way towards the door and ring the bell _once, twice, three times_.

He opens almost instantly, like he's been waiting by the door for my arrival. When I see his face, I feel like I haven't seen him in ages.

"Elena," he says my name hoarsely and in that exact moment my phone chimes in the pocket of my jeans. "I was just about to call you," he says when he hears the sound, ending the call.

I don't say anything. The only thing I can think about is _why was he calling me_? To apologize? To end things?

"Come on in," he says when I don't give any signs of life.

I swallow and step in, insecure and afraid. If he breaks up with me, I'm not sure I'll be able to tell him everything that I wanted to.

"Let's go to my room," he proposes, indicating that Damon is home and that he doesn't want him to hear us. I wonder if Bonnie is here with him.. I didn't see her car in front of the house. But then again, I never did and she has obviously been here before. I move in the well known direction of his room - when we both enter the room, he closes the door behind us.

"Elena," he says my name with an overly sweet voice like my mother often uses when she's worried about me, cutting straight to the chase.

And just like with my mother, paranoia hits me. "Are you breaking up with me?" I ask, trying to prevent my voice from shaking.

"What!?" he exclaims, evidently horrified by the proposition. "No!" he shakes his head, "God, no! I wanted to apologize."

Oh. So it's the second option.

"I don't know what came over me," she shakes his head with a frown on his face, angry at himself. "I shouldn't have reacted like that, and I shouldn't have left you all alone in the middle of the street. I was so confused because what I felt was so surreal and when I saw that you're not as confused as I am I got angry because I thought you're hiding something from me.. I'm not trying to excuse my behavior. And it's certainly not a reason for a break up," he looks at me with glossy eyes, cocking his head to the side. "I would never break up with you."

His last sentence stuns me into silence, making me forget my mission for a while.

"Stefan," I start, already ashamed of my next words, "I am hiding something from you."

He continues looking me in the eyes, but doesn't say a word, which means that he's expecting me to proceed.

"It's about the dreams," I say, and then I stop, like I'm expecting to hear a dramatic music in the background. "When I started having them, I had no idea what they meant.. I still have no idea what they mean. While I was at aunt Helen's, she started asking me about my dreams, which I found weird. And then, I discovered this," I reach into my pocket and take out an old leather bound diary.

"What is it?" he asks, but doesn't reach for it.

"A diary. My aunts sister wrote it.. she was also having dreams, like the ones I'm having."

"The exact same ones?" he eyes the diary, but still doesn't reach for it.

"Well, I don't know if they were in the same setting, but it's the same experience. She started writing when they appeared.."

"Until they stopped?" he jumps to conclusion.

"Until she disappeared."

"What?" he raises his voice, unintentionally.

"I haven't read them all yet, there's a bunch of them, but aunt Helen says that both she and her husband just disappeared one day," I explain, surprisingly calm.

"Dear God.."

"Here, I wanted to show you something," I open the diary at a page where the red scotch tape is placed, offering him to take it from me. After a moment of hesitation, he takes the diary out of my hands. "I want you to read the diary entry I've marked for you."

"Now?" he scans the page filled by extremely feminine writing.

"Yes," I nod before sitting on the edge of his bed, "I'll wait, it won't take you much time."

He nods, figuring there's no point in arguing with me, and starts reading.

I've chosen that entry because it describes my feelings perfectly. She wrote it after several dream sessions, she wrote about how tired she is - tired of feeling too much, of not being able to explain her feelings, of not being able to talk to anybody about what's going on with her. How tired she is of watching these women fall in love with these men, feeling like she's not real, like she's just a figment of someones imagination, like she's just another piece of the puzzle.

I watch his expression change as he goes on and on and, when he finally comes to an end, his eyes continue hovering over the last full stop on the page. And I know exactly why - no one should finish their day feeling like this.

"Do you feel like this as well?" he finally asks.

"Yes," I'm quick to reply. "More or less."

He doesn't say anything, at least not until he comes to sit next to me on the bed. "Elena, you are real. To me, you're the realest thing in this world," he takes my hands and places them between his palms.

"But can you see why I might feel exactly opposite? Didn't you feel it in your dream?" I try to reach out to him. "That this you is not the real you? That you're just a copy, easily replaceable?"

"Yes, yes I did," he lowers his head, caressing my hands with his thumbs, "But I refuse to let that feeling rule me. I am real and you are real, and what we have here is real."

"I want to believe that too. I simply don't know what's coming next and I hate not knowing."

"Well, know this," he raises his head and looks me in the eye, "Whatever it is, we'll face it together."


	17. Chapter 17

I step out of the dressing room and a gasp echoes inside of Bonnie's throat.

"Wow!" the sound comes mostly out of her nose and, on a much smaller scale, through her clenched teeth. She thinks it's inappropriate to display admiration in such a blatant way, especially in public.

Caroline doesn't have such restrictions. She whistles, like a sailor, checking me out from head to toe. "Wow, indeed," she bobs her head up and down approvingly.

I look myself in the mirror, leveling the material of the dress on my hips with my open palms. "You don't think it's too.." I make a quick stop to choose the right word, but they feel free enough to make my choice for me.

"Too short?" Bonnie proposes.

"Too sexy?" Caroline chimes in with a loopy smile on her lips.

My eyes meet theirs in the mirror. "Too much," I say what I meant to say in the first place. Bonnie blushes, averting her gaze away from mine, embarrassed by her incorrect and open proposal.

Caroline stands up from the tiny, cozy leather ottoman she's been sitting on and heads towards me. "Well, it is," she agrees with my statement, "But that's what New Years Eve is supposed to be about."

She puts her soft palms on my exposed shoulders and turns me around. "You look incredibly hot," she says before winking at me, "Almost as hot as me."

I chuckle at her self confidence.

"Stefan will lose his mind when he sees you, and so will everyone else." Sometimes, her self confidence is excruciatingly hard to watch. It's overwhelming to see someone as secure in herself as she is. But then, at other times, when you see her transfer all that positive energy onto other people, you realize it's important that people with so much confidence exist - so they can share it with those who have far less of it in their mind tank.

"However," she lowers her eyes to my chest area, "We need to do something when it comes to your rack." She wiggles her lips, wheels in her mind spinning. Caroline doesn't have any restrictions, but she doesn't have a filter either.

"Excuse me?" my indifferent facial expression turns into one of shock and disbelief.

She rolls her eyes like she always does when I try to play innocent. "Your boobs. They need to make an appearance," she clarifies, and Bonnie chuckles.

Caroline skips over to the lingerie section which is, surprisingly, right next to the dressing rooms. Accident or a marketing ploy? Either way, it's evil.

"Care, I don't think my breasts are big enough to make a grand entrance," I say.

"First of all, ew! Don't ever say breasts again!" she throws a pink, lacy bra with tiny zircons at me. A cup too big. "You're not a middle aged gynecologist from Orange County. Second of all, you don't need to own big boobs to have big boobs. All you need is a right bra."

"Okay.." she sounds like the third page of Cosmopolitan. "I'm not wearing this, though," I hang the bra by its strap on the tip of my finger.

She crosses her arms across her chest, and cocks her eyebrow at me. "And why is that?"

"Because my name is not Tiffany Sparkles."

"Fine," she says calmly, "Then you pick something out."

How generous, she's letting me pick out my own underwear by myself!

I start walking towards the lingerie rack when I catch a glimpse of a silly smirk on her face. "Pick out something Stefan would like to see on you," she mouths to me.

I try to give her that _I'll murder you with my brain_ look, but I've been told I look too goody two shoes. I guess that's correct because, despite my best efforts, she continues smirking.

I scan all the bras, from fiery red ones to simple white ones, until my eyes finally catch a soft, black bra with a tiny bit of lace sewn on the edges.

"Here," I reach for it after I stash the pink one back in its place, "This one."

I look at her, like I'm looking for approval, only to catch her already staring at me with a smug look on her face.

"What now?" I sigh, my mind heavy with wonder, weighing my entire body down.

"If you know what Stefan would like to see on you, it's because he had, literally, already seen it on you," she makes a point.

I could defend myself. Defend myself falsely, of course, because Stefan had seen me in a bra, but still defend myself.

But I don't. Instead, I put that same smug look on my face and say, "We all have our secrets, Caroline."

* * *

"I did not have sex with Stefan, Caroline," I say for the millionth time before taking another sip of my banana milkshake.

My calm and unnerved demeanor to her sneaky statement got me into much more trouble than I thought it would. I knew she's not going to let me off the hook easily, but I didn't know she's going to make this big of a deal out of it.

"But he did see you in your bra!?" she half states, half asks, leaning towards me across the table. I put my milkshake aside so she doesn't knock it over with her wandering hands.

I want to snap at her, but I can't think of anything witty to say. So instead I just sigh and answer meekly, "Yes."

"And why did he see you in your bra?" she presses me harder, her voice light and wistful, like she's proving some kind of a point.

I look her in the eyes with a serious expression on my face. She thinks I'm about to admit something, I can see it in her eyes, especially when I open my mouth to speak. "Because I wasn't wearing my shirt," is all I say.

Her face gets all red, mostly out of anger - she starts resembling a pulsating tomato, ready to explode.

"Oh my God!" Bonnie exclaims before Caroline gets a chance to say anything. Or spit fire. "She's not sleeping with a Salvatore! I am!" the torrent of words comes out of her mouth like a fresh flood. Without a warning.

I whip my look towards her, and so does Caroline. "You're sleeping with Stefan?" she asks, confused, looking at me from the corner of her eye. To see if I know anything about this. _Yes, Caroline, one of my best friends admitted to having an affair with my boyfriend so, naturally, I will just here and sip my milkshake calmly._

"No!" Bonnie says defensively, probably as confused by Caroline's question as Caroline was by her confession. "I'm sleeping with his brother. Damon."

Caroline continues staring at her without any sign of life or emotion. She doesn't blink for what it seems like a minute.

I watch Bonnie's shoulders slump now that a huge weight has been lifted off of them. She's been looking for a perfect moment to admit it to Caroline, but realizing there's no perfect moment to admit something like that, she took what was offered to her.

Caroline parts her lips, ready to speak. "I knew it," she says quietly.

I shift all my attention to her, confused. _She what now?_

"You knew? How?" Bonnie asks, equally confused, her eyebrows dancing on her forehead.

"Well, I didn't really know you're sleeping with Damon Salvatore. My powers are good, but not exact," she points out, reaching for her detox smoothie and aiming the straw between her lips. "I did know there's something fishy going on with you, though, and the first place my mind goes is a sex scandal."

"So you're not angry with me?" she asks, somewhat offended Caroline threw a tantrum over my secret, but remains calm and collected when it comes to hers.

"Umm.. No!" she exclaims cheerfully. "Not angry. You're a big girl! Elena, on the other hand," she gives me a sympathetic look, "Sweet, innocent Elena."

I roll my eyes. It's not like I've been kept in a glass case my entire life.

"And what am I, the whore of Babylon?" Bonnie narrows her eyes, the tone of her voice turning high pitched.

Caroline sighs, clearly thinking that Bonnie's reaction is completely unjustified. "Bonnie, you said you're having sex with him," she states.

"Yeah, so?" Bonnie frowns, not sure she knows which angle Caroline is going to attack her from.

"So, it's not a relationship, it's sex," she clarifies. "Do you have feelings for him? Other than that he gets you hot and bothered?" she asks, already prepared for a negative answer.

I watch Bonnie as she thinks it through. Well, she's actually glaring intensely at Caroline, but I know what's really going on behind that masquerade of her facial expression.

"No," she utters.

I know she's lying.

"Well, our friend here is in the business of breaking her heart, so I think she has an upper hand, don't you think?" she asks, but doesn't expect an answer. "So, Elena.."

"Can we drop this subject? Please?" I beg of her, completely exhausted by milking this unruly cow of a topic.

"I just want to know one thing," she raises one finger in the air and I allow her to proceed. "Why haven't you done it yet? What are you waiting for?"

I guess that's a legit question - what am I waiting for? Is Stefan someone I'll spend my life with? I don't know. But waiting until I'm sure has never been the plan.

"I don't know," I say honestly, because I don't know. I would say I'm not waiting for anything, but I'm clearly waiting for something, because if I weren't we would have done it by now.

She shrugs. "Fair enough," is all she says before she lets it go. I guess she got tired of pulling the words out of me.

"So," she starts again, this time more playfully, "Do you have panties that match that bra?"

* * *

"Okay," I say after I see him let go of the steering wheel. "We're doing this," I exhale, shaping my lips carefully so I don't accidentally bite them. At this moment, my teeth feel sharp enough to pierce through human skin.

"Elena," he says my name, annoyed. Probably because I've spent the whole day panicking about this. "Everything is going to be fine," he says in order to console me, even though judging by the tone of his voice that's the last thing on his mind.

I see him glance at the house nervously. It's a big house, full of people who never did anything but humiliate him or hurt him or simply stood by and watched while others did so.

"There's too much drama between you guys," Bonnie groans in the backseat.

Caroline came here.. I don't know, probably a week ago to keep everything under control. Working undercover while Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood were still in the house. Bonnie, however, didn't have anyone to accompany her because she's _"not dating"_ Stefan's dick of a brother, and she didn't want to go alone. So Stefan asked Damon to let him borrow his car because there's no way I can drive in this dress. That probably infuriated Bonnie more than she would like to admit because all she can think about now is where the hell is Damon celebrating his New Year if he doesn't need his car? And with who?

"Can we go inside now?" she half begs, half weeps.

"Yeah, Elena, can we?" he challenges me with a loopy grin on his face.

I look at him, inhaling deeply before answering - "Yeah, yeah, let's go."

The two of them get out of the car sooner than I thought humanly possible, while I take my time. It's not like I have any other choice in this skin tight dress.

"Okay, it's high time for me to get wasted," Bonnie groans, staring at the Lockwood mansion.

"Bonnie!" I scold her, reaching out for Stefan's arm to hold on to. This pebbled driveway is not friendly towards young, naive girls in high heels - maybe this is how our Mayor relinquishes her enemies before they're even able to come into her house.

"Don't Bonnie me!" she retorts hastily. "This year was freaky and I'm ready to put it behind me. Way, way behind me."

She does have a point, this year was freaky. I started quite nicely - but then again, doesn't ever year try to fool you with a masquerade of a nice beginning? A lot of things have happened this year that I would rather forget, or at least put to rest.

I squeeze my arm in the crook of Stefan's arm. But then again, some things I wouldn't trade for the world.

"Okay," I breathe out, "Just be careful."

She nods, promising me to be careful, but from the way her lips curve I can see that she has no intention of keeping that promise.

We start walking towards the house - I can see Bonnie struggling with heels and tiny pebbles just as much as I am, but she doesn't ask for help. I don't offer it, either, because I know that my offer would only feel like a slap in the face. So I keep holding on to Stefan until we reach a flat and steady surface.

"Thank God," I say under my breath, relieved to finally be able to walk on my own.

Just when I get used to my own two feet again, Caroline's squeal almost pulls the ground from under my feet, sending me into intensive shock. Who screams like that in the middle of the night? Only a crazy person!

I can hear Bonnie mutter something under her breath - probably a curse - because there's no way Caroline didn't scare the living shit out of her as well.

"You're here! You're here!" she exclaims joyfully, climbing down marble steps, taking one step at a time. "You're finally here!" she cries out, taking a running step in Bonnie's direction.

If my dress is two sizes too small for my body, then Caroline's is two sizes too big for hers. She looks like she's wearing a tiny, pink deflated balloon around her torso, revealing a better part of her skinny, long legs.

"I couldn't handle it anymore, being in there without you guys!" she crashes into Bonnie and throws her arms around her in a dramatic manner. "It's a zoo in there!"

"It's that bad?" she asks, even though she knows Caroline has a dramatic flare and tends to turn nothing into a big deal.

"Well, somehow, it's mostly guys," she sniffs. I'm about to make a comment how that never made her sad before, but I stop myself when I notice that she looks really distraught about it. "And look, you brought another one!" she wails when she sees Stefan standing next to me. Like she didn't know he's coming with us.

Stefan is at a loss of words, and so am I - and I'm the one used to her dramatic outbursts.

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I'm glad you're here."

I can see surprise appear on Stefan's initially confused expression once he finally sees Caroline is not a true embodiment of a devil. She actually has a heart and a soul. Of course I know this - I know Caroline as one of the sweetest and most compassionate people I've ever met, but he knows her as someone who likes spreading false rumors.

"You clean up nicely, Stefan," she gives him a compliment, and his surprise deepens.

"Wait," Bonnie says, "If it's mostly guys in there, does that mean they drank all the alcohol?" she asks worriedly.

"Pfffft, no!" Caroline spits out. "Those pigs only drink beer, all the good stuff is still safe. Come on, let's go inside," she motions for us to follow her inside.

Bonnie follows her instantly, chanting _"vodka, vodka!"_ , but I press my lips against Stefan's ear and whisper - "Welcome to the jungle."

* * *

"Bonnie! Elena!" a wide smile appears on Tyler's lips when he sees us coming his way. He's surrounded by his football buddies - including Matt - and utterly, undeniably drunk. No wonder Caroline was out of her mind bored. He puts his hand on the each of our backs, half hugging us, and gives us both a kiss on the cheek. The beer in his breath is strong - lethal, some would say.

His eyes move to Stefan, and for a moment I freeze in place - _danger, danger, danger,_ my old habits start an alarm.

"Hey, Stefan," he outstretches his arm towards him, and I finally let my breath go. "Glad to have you here," he says, but the look on his face is hard.

I guess Caroline made him behave.

Stefan takes his hand and shakes it. "Likewise," he says with an equally hard look on his face.

"Want a beer?" Matt asks, peering from behind Tyler. At first I think he's talking to me, but then I notice him looking Stefan's way.

Stefan looks as confused as I do, but he quickly pulls himself out of it. "Yeah, sure," he nods.

Matt takes a can of beer out of the ice bucket and throws it at Stefan who catches the can like a true pro.

"Woah, nice catch," Danny notices, looking quite impressed. "You play?"

"What? Beer fetching?" Stefan asks.

Danny laughs out loud. "No, man. Football."

Ha! Stefan playing football! What a funny idea! Even though he would look quite good in a jersey.

"I need alcohol," I hear Bonnie whisper to Caroline behind my back.

"Okay, okay," Caroline exhales. The next thing I know, she's yanking my arm. "Elena, you coming?"

I look at Stefan, since she didn't include his name in her question. She lets out a little laugh when she sees what I'm doing.

"Stefan's a big boy, Elena, he can take care of himself."

Can he? These people are piranhas - they can skin him alive. They most likely will.

But he doesn't look like he's afraid of piranhas. So I smile at him before giving him a peck on the lips.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming," I say to my friends as I follow them through the crowd.

Caroline leads us towards the end of the hallway where we make a last turn to the right and find ourselves in what seems to be a study.

"Close the door," she says, and I make sure to do exactly that after I enter the room. As soon as the doors fall closed, all the noise from the outside dies down, like the room is soundproof.

"Is this Mayor Lockwood's study?" Bonnie inquiries, pulling her finger over the big leather chair. It seems as slick as a bald mans head.

"Yes," Caroline opens the cabinet and starts taking out several bottles of alcohol. "On every other day it is. But today, it's a room where Caroline stashed all the good booze," she giggles.

She opens a bottle of vodka and pours it into three plastic cups. She hands one to Bonnie who takes it out of her hands as soon as possible, and one to me.

"Oh, no.." I start, but Caroline rolls her eyes before I manage to say anything.

"Elena.. you're young, you're smart, you're hot - you have a reason to celebrate. Now take the drink."

She starts shaking the cup in front of my nose until I take it out of her hands.

"To new beginnings," Bonnie raises her cup in the air.

"And new adventures," Caroline continues.

"And old friendships," I add.

Bonnie gulps her drink down before I'm able to finish my sentence, but Caroline is polite enough to wait until I'm finished talking. I follow their lead and slant my cup - the poison starts running down my throat, into my stomach. It burns. I imagine this is how vampires feel like when they taste holy water.

"You and Stefan are adorable," Caroline says as she takes the bottle into her hands and starts pouring us another drink.

"Where did that come from?" I ask.

"My heart," she says in a sappy voice. "I don't know," she shrugs, "I've never said it before, and I should have. But then again, I haven't seen you being adorable before, and I should have. So there.."

"Thank you," I say, not knowing what else to say.

"I wish Tyler was that type of a guy," she makes a grimace. "And adorable, teddy bear guy."

"And what kind of a guy is he?" I ask, even though I'm pretty sure I already know the answer.

"A jerk. Class A-sshole, who would rather get drunk with his buddies then spend some quality time with me on New Years Eve."

"Oh, shut up," Bonnie says bitterly. "At least you have a boyfriend."

"Not my problem you would rather fuck than cuddle," Caroline points out.

"Oh my God!" I exclaim at her profanities. "Gross!"

Bonnie laughs, pouring herself another drink while I'm still stuck at my second, and Caroline starts laughing alongside her. It takes only several seconds for my laughter to be heard as well.

* * *

"Here you are," I come from behind him and wrap my arms around his torso. I push my face into the soft material of his jacket, inhaling his scent.

"Elena," he says my name wistfully. He tries to look at me over his shoulder, but I'm so tiny compared to him - all he manages to catch is the top of my head.

I spin around him, using his body as a pole. "Having fun?" I flash him a smile.

He looks deep into my eyes, like he's trying to figure out if it's really me in there. "Mhm," he hums, removing the wisp of my hair from my sticky forehead. "And so are you, I see."

I giggle, because he's undoubtedly referring to my drunk self. This time I don't have to step on my toes to kiss him - with me wearing heels there's no height difference between us. I throw my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me or myself closer to him, the toxic taste in my mouth now replaced by something as sweet as apple syrup on my morning pancakes.

"Woah," he exhales after I rip my lips away from his.

"Right?" I snicker, a mischievous smile plastered across my face. "Come on, I have something to show you," I whisper, my eyes wide and glossy. I grab him by his wrist, leading him through the crowd. There are several people groping each other on the stairs - Tyler banned the use of the upper floor, but I assume that being his girlfriends best friend gives me a free pass - so we have to squeeze between them on our way upstairs.

"Are you sure you know where we're going?" he asks.

"Don't worry, I've been here countless times before," I answer without giving it a second though. When I hear the words come out of my mouth, I realize how wrong they sounds.

When we finally reach upstairs, I choose the first doors on the left - first four rooms are all guest rooms anyway. I open the door in a hurry, dragging him inside before he's able to protest. We enter a dark room and I spend at least half a minute looking for a switch.

"So, what did you want to show me?" he asks innocently after I find the switch and make the entire room light up.

I walk over to the bed and sit on it, reaching down to take my heels off. "My feet are killing me," I groan. I pull the better part of my feet out of those torturous shoes and shake the rest off of my toes.

"Come," I pat the empty space next to me. He walks over and sits on the bed, not quite next to me, but close enough for me to be able to reach him. "I've been thinking," I say with a thoughtful look in my eyes. "And I think I'm ready," I place my palm just a little bit above his knee.

He squints at me. "Ready for what?"

"Sex!" I exclaim, as if it wasn't obvious.

His eyes go wide at the mention of that word. "What, here?" he looks at the bed behind us.

"Well," I scoot closer to him, "Why not?"

There are only few inches separating our faces. I can feel his breath on my skin, and I spend my time wondering can he notice my heartbeat in my throat.

I kiss him and, to my surprise, he doesn't protest - quite contrary, he embraces me. His palm falls perfectly into the curve of my hip and I lean into him, feeling weak from his touch, his kiss, his presence. My body almost takes itself apart into million tiny pieces.

I continue leaning into him until we're both lying down. Half of my body is on top of him, other half is on the bed. I start unbuttoning his shirt. His hands appear on my back, and his fingers start rummaging around, clearly looking for something. It takes me a while to realize what it is.

"There's no zipper," I murmur into his mouth.

"What?" he says in return, almost delirious.

"There's no zipper. I have to take it off."

I pull myself into a sitting position and start removing my dress in the opposite direction - first I peel it off my thighs and then start pulling it over my head. It takes me by surprise that, once the dress leaves me body, I don't feel cold, probably due to alcohol and excitement.

He takes the sight of half naked me in, his eyes roaming over my body, his look full of adoration and wanting. I start leaning back into him - my palms meet his chest, and he grabs me by the hips, his fingers gently squeezing my flesh.

My lips meet his again, first gently, playfully, then more roughly, deeply, sexually.

As we kiss, as he keeps touching me and as I keep trying to get him naked, images start flashing in front of my closed eyelids. Fragments of memories - soft skin, big, rock hard muscles, heath, wings. Fluffy, fluttery white wings. Two people.. two entities intertwined, gasping, moaning, breathing heavily. I almost blush from the sensation the sight brings me.

"What was that?" Stefan asks from under me, fighting for breath.

"I don't know," I say honestly. And in this moment, I don't care. But I should.

There's a pressure in my stomach, in my chest, my entire body is vibrating. I stop kissing him and pull myself up. He looks at me worriedly. Being bent down started feeling extremely uncomfortable, so I make a grimace.

Some force crashes into me and I can feel myself flying across the room. My muscles become tense. When my back hit the bedroom wall, everything turns black.


	18. Chapter 18

_**January 8, 2016**_

 _Dear diary,_

 _Stefan is afraid to touch me._

 _Ever since the incident in Tyler's house on New Years Ever, he's doing everything to stay away from me. At least physically. He texts me all the time, we talk daily, and he has no problems with being in the same room with me. As long as there's maximum distance between us. When I try to get closer to him, his muscles tense visibly and he gets extremely uncomfortable. Whenever I try to kiss him, he thinks of some poor excuse to pull away from me._

 _I remember the pressure in my stomach. I remember the pulsating feeling in my bones. I remember feeling like someone punched me and knocked all the air out of me. I remember flying across the room and hitting the wall._

 _I don't remember what happened between that moment and moment I opened my eyes. The only reminder I have of that horrible experience is my sore back._

 _There are two things I won't ever forget, though._

 _The first thing are moments before everything went down the drain. When I was neither here nor there. When I lived two lives in two different bodies at the same time. When I was on the soft bed, half naked, kissing Stefan and when I was in a damp cave, lying on the ground, breathing into **his** neck. My back was wet from sweat and my hair was stuck to my skin. I could barely breathe, at least until he kissed me and filled my lungs with air, reviving me. I was so small and he was so big, so strong. His muscles were the size of my head. He smelled like Stefan and felt like Stefan and that dark, wet cave was filled with love he felt for me, love that felt very much like Stefan's. There were two, big white wings on his sculpted back, hanging around him like Willow Tree branches, glowing in the dark. _

_The second thing is the look in Stefan's eyes after I opened mine after flying into a wall. They were full of fear and helplessness, full of tears and worry. He was kneeling next to me, with his arms outstretched, but he was clearly afraid of touching me. And he was clearly blaming himself for what had happened._

 _He was afraid or hurting me because he had seen everything. And he remembers everything._

 _He took me in his arms and carried me to bed, laying me down, careful not to touch my sore spot. He got me dressed, all by himself, while my head was spinning._

 _That was the last time he had laid his hands on me. And that was a week ago._

* * *

When it comes to explaining what's happening to me, internet is pretty much useless. There are too many wackos out there, sharing their stories and experiences. They thinks it makes them special. Chosen. I think it's making my life extremely difficult. Almost unbearable. I'm lying to those closest to me and my boyfriend won't lay a finger on me.

So I make my way to a place everyone who internet fails eventually end up at - the library. The library lady smiles at me as a form of a greeting, since I'm no stranger here. I smile back and proceed in my usual direction, but I don't take my usual turn to the right where some of my favorite books live. No, I continue walking towards the dusty, lonesome, not so often frequented corridor. Kids usually go there to make out or sell pot, because only weirdos who are believed to be in some sort of a sect go there to borrow books, and they don't care enough to tell on them.

Before I take I turn, I make sure there's no one there - I'm in luck, the corridor is empty. I step into it, making sure no one sees me, and start looking for book titles I've managed to find online.

 _Reincarnation. Prophecy. Visions._ I have no idea what's going on with me, so I'm keeping my options open.

"Elena?" I hear a familiar voice calling my name. My fingers freeze, only inches away from the thick, brown, worn out book.

I turn my head in the direction the voice came from. "Millie?" I recognize her as soon as I lay my eyes on her.

" _OhmyGod_ ," the way she says them, those three words mash into one. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for some reading material," I make an excuse, pulling my hand away from the shelf. "My professor is a little wacky. You?" I throw her the ball before she thinks to ask anymore questions.

"Same, actually. I study the occult."

At first, I'm shocked. But then I look at her - in a way, she looks like she belongs here. She's insanely beautiful, sure, but there's also something strange about her.

"And you don't have a library on Campus?" I ask wearily.

Her lips perk up when I ask that question. "Of course we do, but they have a much finer selection here in the city library."

She starts walking towards me, but she shifts her attention from me to the books on the shelves soon enough. "If you want to read something really, really fascinating," she starts pulling the tips of her fingers over the spines of big, thick books. Her fingers are long and gracious, but out of some reason they seem really dangerous as well. I can imagine them around someones neck, applying pressure without even trying, serving as a weapon that leaves no trace or mark.

I shake my head, trying to eject those thoughts out of my head. Why did such thoughts even appear up there?

"You should read this," she pulls a huge, red book with golden sutures from the shelf and gives it to me.

I take the book out of her hands. "Hidden Dimensions?" the title stares at me, luring me in, but at the same time frightening me. I raise my look, leveling it with hers. "What, like an alternate universe?"

She lets out an amused giggle. "No, an alternate universe is something else. In an alternate universe, your life is basically the same. You know all the same people and you live in the same town and your parents are still your parents. The difference is in the details - your best friend in one universe is your boyfriend in the other, or in one universe you decided to dye your hair black, but in the other purple. This, however," she points to the book in my hands, "is about multiverses. Multiverses are completely different realities, but there's only one you. You can only exist in one multiverse, once in a lifetime."

I frown. "I don't really get it," I admit.

"When it comes to alternate universes, there is a one of you in each of those universes. In multiverses, there's only one you, one soul than can change bodies from one lifetime to another," she explains calmly.

"Like reincarnation?" I ask.

"Similar," she nods. "Read the book, things are going to be much clearer for you then. Plus, it's an interesting read."

"Umm, thanks," I say. I didn't really plan leaving with any of these books. "I'll check it out."

"No problem. Happy New Year, by the way. You had a good time, I assume?"

"Thanks, you too. Yeah, I did," I lie. Well, not really. It was okay until we went upstairs. "You had a good time as well?" I ask, because I'm polite like that, not because I'm interested in my fathers employees. We're not friends.

"Crashed a party. Created havoc. The usual," she winks at me.

"Sounds like fun," I smile forcefully. "I have to go now. Thanks for the book."

She nods at me, and I turn to leave, the book heavy in my hand, and my mind heavy in my head.

* * *

 _"I'm coming over!"_ I text Stefan as soon as I leave the library.

I tuck the heavy book in my bag, hiding it from curious looks and chatty minds. I don't need anymore rumors started about me.

Speaking of rumors, I see Rebekah walking in my direction. I take my first step down the library stairs, and fill my lungs with air, secretly hoping she doesn't notice me. But she does.

I thought Rebekah Mikaelson is harmless. I even thought she's kinda my friend, since she was always so nice to me. She was never snarky or rude. But ever since I started dating Stefan, she became an epitome of evil. If I didn't know any better, I would think she's in love with him or something.

I remember seeing her in Tyler's house at New Years Eve. I kissed Stefan - it was one of those long, lazy kisses that last longer than they feel - and after we broke our locked lips I saw here standing on the other side of the room, watching us, glaring at us. Angrily. Enviously.

She smirks, like she knows I'm not that crazy about bumping into her - it gives her the sense of power. She knows that she has an effect on me, one that serves her purpose.

"Elena," she says my name so sweetly that it has to be fake, "Lovely seeing you here."

I force myself to smile. "You too."

"You came to borrow something?" she peers behind me at the slumping bag on my shoulder.

"A book," I say. _Duh_.

She cocks her eyebrow, half infuriated, half impressed by my attitude. "On sex?" she asks openly. Loudly. If there was someone near, they would have undoubtedly heard her.

My eyes grow wide, popping out of my sockets. "What?" I screech.

"Oh, I've heard stories about you and your little boy toy doing it in one of Tyler's guest rooms on New Years Eve," she shrugs, like it's nothing. She lowers her look down, pretending to check her nails, but then looks at me from under her lashes. "You have an interesting taste in men - you turn down Matt for someone like him. I mean, I'm not denying that he's good looking, yet the entire school detests him. And if so many people hate him, I guess the reason why must be true."

I clench my fingers into fists, seconds away from punching her in the face. Firstly, her calling him good looking just bugs me in the wrong way. Secondly, whenever Stefan's popularity, or the lack of it, comes in question, I get inexplicably angry. Not because my boyfriend is unpopular, whatever the hell that means, but because these people have no real reason to hate him. And I think Tyler's party proved that.

"You know what, Rebekah?" I decide to take the peaceful way out. "If you stopped obsessing over my life, maybe you would actually have time to get one for yourself."

I pass her by and leave her standing there before I'm able to see her reaction which is, I assume, ten different kinds of shock.

My phone chimes between my still clenched fingers. A text from Stefan.

 _":)"_ is all it says. A smiley. A fucking smiley. There's no doubt in my mind that he's happy to see me, but he also feels undeniably uncomfortable in my presence.

That stops today.

* * *

He tells me to let myself in. As soon as I put my hand on the doorknob, a shiver passes through my spine and once I get inside, I realize why.

I hear loud voices and roaring laughter as soon as I open the front door. Damon's annoying snicker followed by a light female laugh - that is definitely not Bonnie's - makes my bones heavy inside of my body and my heart racing in my chest, worried for my best friends well being. Another unfamiliar voice intercepts them excitedly, which calms my heart, putting it at ease. Damon with friends is definitely better than Damon alone with some girl.

I continue standing in the hallway, not eavesdropping on their conversation, but waiting for Stefan to come and get me. He doesn't come though - maybe he hasn't heard me come in - so I start walking in the direction of the living room. I have to pass it by in order to reach Stefan's room. I try to do so quietly, but quickly - yet, despite my best efforts, Damon's beady eyes notice me trying to sneak by.

"Elena!" he yells after me, and I stop in place. Everyone look in my direction. The first person that I notice, apart from Damon, is Katherine. I also notice that she's sitting way too close to him. "If you're looking for my brother, he's right here."

In that moment, Stefan stands up, his expression full of surprise - like he didn't know I'm coming.

"You're here," there's a certain amount of serenity in his words, but his facial expression remains hard as he says them.

"I'm here," I confirm, looking around the room sheepishly.

Rebekah's brothers, whose names I've unfortunately forgotten, are there as well. No Lexi, and she's the only one I actually like.

"Hi, everyone," I say with a loopy smile on my face.

The guys greet me back, but Katherine keeps staring at me like I've wronged her in some way. She's pretty, I realize once again. Not Millie sort of pretty, and not Caroline sort of pretty, but frighteningly pretty. When you look at her you just know there must be something wrong with her kind of pretty.

After we exchange the pleasantries, Stefan starts moving towards me. "Let's go," he points towards his bedroom, and I'm more than happy to comply.

"Damon and Katherine seem chummy," I say once we enter his room and he closes the door behind us.

"Katherine is _chummy_ with everyone," he snorts.

He says chummy in an extremely sarcastic way. I guess big, old wounds heal slow. Or maybe never at all.

"You're worried about Bonnie, aren't you?" he asks me. As if I would be interested in Damon's love life if she wasn't involved in it.

"Well, of course," I reply.

"Elena, my brother is.." he stops mid sentence, trying to find the right words.

I find them for him. "A man whore?" I propose.

Corners of his lips twitch, but they never form a smile. "Complicated," he corrects me.

"Other people shouldn't suffer because of it," I answer bitterly.

His cocks his head to the side. I know that he agrees with me, but the urge to defend his brother is simply too strong for him to push it aside. "I suppose other people knew what they're getting themselves into."

I have no good comeback prepared, because Bonnie did know what she's getting herself into. Silence falls between us because neither of us will stop defending the people we care about, no matter how wrong we know they are.

"Anyway, where were you?" he sits on the chair simply because he knows I'll sit on the bed. He hates that chair, he says that it feels like chiwawa is chewing on his butt. He would rather have a tiny, angry dog chew at his butt than have to sit next to me.

"At the library," I look at him judgmentally, not caring about the book I wanted to show him, or my ideas, or theories about what's happening to me. To us. "We can't go on like this anymore, Stefan."

Fear flashes through his eyes. "What do you mean?" he says in one breath.

I take my bag off of my shoulders and let it slide down my arms on his bed. To his surprise, my body doesn't follow it, instead my legs make their way towards him. He flinches, which only angers me more.

"I mean, we can't go on pretending like everything is fine and dandy. You haven't touched me since last year. Literally!" I raise my voice, irritated by the fact that I've allowed this charade to go on for this long. "What are you afraid of? Hurting me?" I ask. He bows his head, letting me know he has no intention of answering me. "You know that what happened that night wasn't your fault, or my fault. Someone or something out there is messing with us!"

He doesn't say a word, which only tickles my nerves in a bad way. Very, very bad way.

I start towards him, reaching for him, but he jumps away from me, making me grab the air above the chair where his body once used to be.

His reflexes surprise me - when or where or how did he learn to move so fast?

"I'm not afraid of hurting you, because I already did hurt you. I inflicted pain on you in every possible way, in every sense imaginable."

I frown, confused by the meaning of his words. "What are you talking about?"

He raises his head, and our eyes lock. For a moment there, I actually think I see fire inside of them. His jaw tightens.

"I remember. I remember everything."

* * *

 _ **AN:** Hey guys, I wanted to let you know that I'm going to Poland for student exchange, so I'll have even less time and, possibly, worse internet connection. Which means my updates might get even less frequent. I'll try my best, though :)_

 _Cheers ;)_


	19. Chapter 19

**_Place: The Solitary Isle_**

 ** _Time: Unknown_**

 _I can see the entire Universe from up here._

 _Okay, I am over exaggerating, I can maybe see 0.01% of the Universe from up here, but I will never stop being in awe of how big and small and beautiful and insignificant our world looks from up here._

 _He is holding me close to his body. Maybe even too close - not that I am complaining. All I can feel is muscle upon muscle and silky, tight skin wrapped around it. His arms are wrapped around my waist, and the pressure of his fingertips on the soft section of my belly - I have to remind Hypatia to stop feeding me sugar plums - is gluing my dress to my skin. He is so big, and I am so small, but I am not afraid of anything, while he is afraid of everything. Maybe that is why his bones rattle, and not mine, while he flies me across the mud pond. I am not afraid of flying, but he is, because he knows what it is like to fall, while I only know what it is like to fly._

 _It is so dark here. Everything is gray and sad and war ridden. Our side of the world is more colorful, and it smells nicer. I look up at him, trying to understand how a place this ugly managed to produce a creature this beautiful and kind and loving._

 _We are going down - whenever he changes direction, the sound his wings make changes as well._

 _He knows I can't stand this place. He can't stand it either. But we both know this is the safest place for us to meet - maybe the only place in the entire Universe. A while ago he told me that they usually keep their prisoners at Solitary Isle, but there are no prisoners here now - they need all the manpower they can get their hands on for the forthcoming war._

 _He releases me once he makes sure both of his feet are steady on the ground, and he steps away from me once he makes sure the coast is clear. He remains focused, though, always ready for an attack, which is why he never folds his wings entirely like I have seen many of his fellow soldiers do when they are not on the lookout._

 _We walk into the damp, dark cave - for security reasons, not because we like to inhale the mixture of sweat, blood and mold. When all the light disappears as a sign that we have moved far away from the main entrance, I snap my fingers and fire appears on their tips. The shadow of a small flame falls on his abdomen, but I wish it would fall on his lips so I can see a smile I know is there because I can feel my lips expanding as well._

 _One of my first thoughts, whenever my eyes fall upon him, is that he is not wearing a shirt - it took me some time to get used to that fact, because our men wear shirts at all times. Richer ones wear silk or satin, while poorer ones wear simple cotton. But our men are not soldiers, at least not in the traditional sense of the word._

 _He never wears his armor in my company. The first time I have laid my eyes upon him, he was wearing one. He, among ten other soldiers, was accompanying the Prince, first in his line, to our village. From a very early age I have learned that they come to us to buy two things: magic, or sex. Sometimes they come for food as well, but rarely, since most of them believe our food to be poisonous - that is how they explain our magic to themselves. They think we digest poison, and that the poison manifests itself in the form of magic. It is quite silly, actually, since we do not choose to be born with magic anymore than they choose to be born with wings on their backs. I do not know what the Prince came for that day, but I remember Cleon stumbling after him clumsily, looking lost, even though he tried to keep a straight face. He looked like his armor is wearing him down._

 _"What a strange, little solider," I remember saying to Hypatia as we walked home from school._

 _She chuckled. "That is not a soldier. At least not yet, anyways. That is Prince's brother."_

 _I was ashamed of not knowing that, and angry at her for knowing it. But of course she knew - she was four years older than me and, at the time, to me it seemed she knows everything there is to know._

 _I focus all of my concentration into making the flame on my fingertips grow wider, until it does and I see his beautiful face. Very serious, very hard, but still beautiful face._

 _"This is becoming more and more dangerous with each passing day," are the first words he says to me._

 _I was expecting something more.. romantic, but I can't blame him if safety is the first, and sometimes only thing on his mind. His kind is preparing for a war with the Fair Folk, and my people refusing to help them are only making the matter worse. Maybe we are made to entertain them, but we are certainly not made to like them._

 _"This," I point at the space made of distance between our bodies, "Was dangerous since the moment it started."_

 _He tightens his jaw. "It is more dangerous now. More complicated."_

 _"I know why we are here," I decide to end this charade before he gets a chance to insult me with it - I try to stay strong, but I can feel my voice cracking on the edges. "You have to join the war, don't you?"_

 _Of course he has to join the war, he is a solider - all of them are. Their bodies are fortresses made out of steel, they are a weapon, and they are destined to die before they get to live._

 _"The King made me Supreme Commander," he says._

 _They say angels are made for war, but judging by the way fear weavers through his voice as he pronounces his new position, I do not think all of them are ready for it. Hypatia says that's the problem with our Universe - we're born to be something, not someone._

 _"When are you leaving?" I swallow those words like they're poison and I can't wait to die._

 _I always knew this day would come - the day when who we are destroys who we want to be. Maybe.. maybe I thought, or better yet hoped, that being the Kings son gives him some kind of an immunity. But I guess it only makes him that much more important._

 _"I do not have to go anywhere until the war starts."_

 _"If the war starts," I say optimistically, like always._

 _And like always, he smiles at my naivety. But another shape of his lips swallows his smile as soon as it appears and that is how I know there is more._

 _"Say it," I say quietly, but when he does not react I repeat my command, but this time with a scream. "Say it!"_

 _When he starts speaking, he takes his eyes off of me. "Before I go, the King wants me to marry. So I can produce an heir."_

 _That makes sense, my mind says. He is the second in line - if his brother dies, the crown is his. But if he dies as well, there is no one to inherit the crown. And among his people, King's sons are known to die long before their time._

 _"Do you have someone in mind?" I ask. I know it is unfair of me to ask that question, especially in such a mocking tone of voice._

 _His women are beautiful. They are strong, they are warriors, their bodies are made out of muscle as well. But they have grace and beauty._

 _We can't marry. I can sell him pastries, I can mend his wounds with magic, I can even give him sexual pleasure. But I can never become his wife, and if we ever had children he could never claim them as his because their wings would be tipped with magic and their hands too weak to hold an angels sword._

 _"No," he responds._

 _We both know his father does, though._

 _"But I have a plan."_

* * *

"Stefan," I say his name cautiously, for what is probably the hundredth time in the last minute. "What do you mean you remember everything?"

Like the previous hundred times, he does not answer me. I give up on asking him the same question over and over again, so I exhale loudly and flop myself on the bed next to him.

The silence in the room is not uncomfortable - we have passed that stage in our relationship a long time ago - but it is definitely unnerving. Anger starts to slowly flow through my body because he refuses to tell me anything, as per usual. He always does this, shuts himself inside of his little box and denies me access.

Which is why I am surprised, if not even relieved, when he speaks first, without me having to urge him to open himself up.

"I remember us," he says meekly, like he is not sure of the words he is about say. I turn my head in his direction in an instant, trying to catch the look in his eyes, but I am unable to do so. He has his head bowed down, staring directly at his playful fingers. He always does that when he is nervous - he plays thumb wars with himself. "I remember us when we were more _us_ than we are now."

I don't understand, but I do not tell him that, because he probably does not understand it either.

"Everything is blurry, I can't see us properly," he continues. "But I know that it is us - I can feel it. I can remember us in some other life.."

 _Some other life._ "Like, in my dreams?" I ask hopefully. I want to share this thing, whatever it is, with him. I want to know that I am not going mad. Or, at least, that I am not going mad alone.

"No," he shakes his head, "That is not real. Just like this is not real."

When he says those words, I shrink myself into the size of a bean. _Ouch_ is the only word I can think of at the moment.

I guess he can feel the effect his words had on me, because he looks at me with those big, beautiful green eyes of his. "I did not mean it like that," he says hysterically, waving his hands at me until they finally come close enough to fall on my body - his fingers wrap themselves around my shoulders. "You are real, I am real, and we are real. But," he locks his eyes with me. Even if I wanted to steer my look away, I would not be able to. "I can remember a life where I loved you so much better than this."

It is funny how, in the middle of a conversation about another life, about the possibility of reincarnation or something similar to it, the only word my brain recognizes clearly is the word love. _He loves me_.

"And that says a lot," he surprises me with more words. I have never heard him say so many words at once, and now I know why - he was saving them for a moment that matters. For a moment I always thought of as a myth, a moment so popularly called _the right moment_. "Because I already love you more than I thought possible," he removes his hands from my shoulders and grabs my hands, squeezing my fingers with his. He does it so quickly that I have no time to react, to show him the same affection that he is showing me. "And if I love you like this in a life that does not feel real, only imagine how much I love you in a life that does."

I blush as he says those words, finally moving my thumb gently and caressing the soft skin of his hands. "I love you too," I say shyly, simply because I have never said those words out loud before, but once I do I finally realize why people do it. Why they feel the need to _say_ it even when their actions show it, even when the other person knows. Because it does not only feel good to say it, but it feels good to hear it as well - I, a human being, love another human being. So _simple_. So _lovely_. "But, Stefan, this is real. This is our life, our reality."

He breaks our look, seemingly disappointed in me. "How do you not feel it?"

"I feel it," I try to convince him. I do feel it, that there is something more, something not quite right, and I am open to finding out what is making me feel like this. But until I do, I believe in facts. "But saying that this life is not real is.." I stop in order to find the right word only to discover that there is not one. "If all of this is not real, then it means that our family and friends are not real either."

He looks me in the eyes again, but this time his look is hard and serious, void of any and every warm emotion. "Maybe they are not."

In that instant I pull my hands out of his. "Is that is the truth, I refuse to accept it," I frown. "I was at the library, I have this book - " I never get to finish my sentence, because he intercepts it, clearly annoyed by my refusal to accept his truth.

"A book will not help us, Elena!" he raises his voice at me.

I stand up, distancing myself from him. "Do not ever yell at me!" I say angrily. No one gets to yell at me like I am a child, like I know nothing, simply because I have my own opinion.

He swallows, sorry for raising his voice at me, but too worked up to apologize for it. "What we are looking for is not hidden in some book. What we are looking for is a truth, not a story," he continues.

The more he talks, the more he pushes me to the point of breaking down. And I will not let him do that, so I put a stop to it before we come close to it happening.

"You know what, Stefan?" I grab my bag from his bed and hang it on my shoulder. " _We_ are not looking for anything. Whatever you want to find, you can do it by yourself."

I start for the door, and he doesn't stop me.

So I leave.

Once I close the door of his bedroom behind me, I get a strange feeling that I will never come back here.


	20. Chapter 20

When I was little, my mom would tell me stories about star-crossed lovers. About people who share a soul, who live restlessly until they find their other half. Her voice trembled with passion as she told me impossible tales about lovers to whom the laws of time and space did not apply. Their love was so powerful that the entire Universe plotted with them to give them a happy ending. Those stories were her religion, but they were also her reality. She had found her soulmate very early in her life and she had hoped the same would happen to her daughter.

Fortunately for me, I had to live in that illusion for only several years of my life since I've realized very early in my life that I'm nothing special, and outstanding things happen only to outstanding people. I wasn't the pretty one, that role had always belonged to Caroline. I considered myself witty, but Bonnie was always wittier. I found myself in the middle, bridging the differences between my friends.

And then I met Stefan. Really met him. He became more than a rumor, more than a silly story people tell at parties to have some cruel fun. He became a real life person, and my thoughts started wrapping around him too fast, too soon. He made me feel special. Not in the way he treated me, or in the things he said, but in the way he existed, separate from the thoughts others formed about him. He was a completely different person than people said he is, and I was the only one who knew it. He was my own personal secret which is why, at first, I was so reluctant to share him. I was afraid he is going to lose his charm if I let other people take a peek, like everything I love about him comes in limited amounts. I didn't want others to waste what I so selfishly proclaimed belongs to me.

He never did lose his charm, though. No matter how much of himself he reveals to people, somehow he always remains more mine than theirs. Even now, when he's trying to make me believe into something I do not want to believe in, when he's shouting in my face to accept his version of truth.

When I storm out of his house, towards my car, I hope he would follow, even though I don't actually want him to. Another proof that when you fall in love certain parts of your brain begin to turn into mush, slowly rotting away. I start my car even before I finish putting my seat belt on, my urge to get as far away from here as soon as possible topping my responsible sense of safety. As I move further away from his house, I vainly hope that his words and his image are going to leave my mind at peace. They do not, of course.

I was attracted to him. Not since the first time I have seen him - I felt really uncomfortable when I realized we are about to spend our Summer together. Until I was not anymore, because he started feeling familiar in a way I could not explain. And maybe I fell in love with him a little bit too soon.

My eyes go wide with horror when I realize that today was the first time he told me he loved me. I treated his words like they are nothing, an everyday occurrence, simply telling him I love him as well. I take a deep breath and try to rewind my mind to the moment he said those words. There he is, in front of me, those three words falling down his lips, me catching them with the tip of my fingertips, letting them sink in. And in that fleeting moment, I felt at peace. I do not think I have ever felt such calmness before in my life. His words rang in my mind, but they felt like a familiar melody - like he was repeating them, not saying them for the first time.

I realize that is why I did not react to his words like every other love struck teen would have. It also explains my initial attraction to him. It was not a physical attraction, even though he is easy on the eye. It was more how familiar the lines of his face seemed to me, how perfectly the palm of my hand had fit to the back of his neck, like it was already imprinted there, the thought that I could be waking up next to his subtle smile for the rest of my life.

Because, once upon a time, I did. He had already loved me, and I already loved him. Our meeting, our relationship, it was not a start of something new, it was a reminder of something old.

I take a good look at our little town as I drive through its streets. I have always wanted to escape a town where everyone know everything about everyone, and now I so desperately want to stay. The reason why I reacted to his words the way I did, when I myself had a similar idea of what is going on, is because I did not want him to agree with me. I wanted him to tell me that my idea is so crazy that it defies all logic. I needed him to tell me that I am wrong.

I do not know what is worse, the idea that all of this is happening in my head, or the fact that this place is real, but not a place I belong in.

After I pull into our driveway and kill the engine off, I take a look into the rearview mirror. I cannot go like this in front of my mom, she will know that something is wrong and I don't know how to discuss these things with her. So I adjust my makeup and pull my shit together before going into the house.

She is in the living room, tucked under a blanket, watching her favorite show. When she hears me come in, she turns her head to me and a smile appears on her strawberry lips.

"You are home," she says.

I walk up to her and put my arms around her shoulders. "I am home.

* * *

While Bonnie's bedroom is so tiny that you could say that she lives in a cupboard under the stairs, Caroline's is so big that sometimes we joke that she has a house within a house. But the thing I love the most about Caroline's room is her bed - she has this enormous king size bed with million upon million of fluffy pillows in the middle of her room.

"Elena, please do not - "

But it is too late. Before she manages to finish her sentence, I run towards her bed and dive into the sea of pillows. She hates that.

"Okay," she huffs, trying to calm herself down. Bonnie chuckles from behind her as I start rolling around the cotton cloud that is our friends bed.

"So, why did you summon us here?" I ask with a muffled voice, my face pressed against at least ten tiny pillows. Heart shaped, circle shaped, crown shaped.. it's a pillow palooza here.

Caroline sent us a 911 text, which means that we have to drop whatever we are doing in the moment and come to the person who is in the state of an emergency to offer them aid. Caroline sends 911 texts too often, since she counts her favorite shade of lipstick being pulled out of the sale as an emergency situation.

"We have an important matter to discuss," she announces dramatically. "We are going to see Captain America."

Usually, when people say discuss, they refer to an actual conversation between multiple participants. But Caroline talks things through with herself and just notifies us about the outcome. It is nice to know that she at least thinks we are involved in the process.

"Since when do you like Captain America?" Bonnie makes a confused face.

"Do you even know who Captain America is?" I add with my eyebrow raised.

She bites her lip. "Isn't he the hot one?"

Bonnie and me share a look.

"Is Tyler making you see it?" I inquire, because that seems like a possible option.

"Yes," she exhales, crossing her arms over her chest like an uncooperative child. "Well, no. We have both agreed that, once a month, we will do something the other one wants to do. Getting acquainted with each others interests, or whatever."

When she sees the wary look on my face, she responds with an icy glare. "I have read it is healthy for the relationship, okay?"

"Okaaaay," Bonnie prolongs that word as much as possible. "What do you need us for?" she joins me on the bed. I look at Caroline, standing on the other side of the room, all alone. Something does not feel right with that picture. It seems like it is always Bonnie and me on one side, and her on the other.

"Well, I was thinking, since you know so much more about the movie.." she starts, her look wandering from Bonnie to me. "I was about to propose a double date," she says hopefully.

"Like, the four of us?" Bonnie asks in horror.

"No!" Caroline exclaims, equally horrified by the idea. "Tyler and me, and you guys with your respective partners. Or at least one of you!" she adds the last sentence only because she realizes she might be asking a bit too much from us.

"Care, I would love to, but Stefan and me are not on the speaking terms right now," I confess.

"What?" Bonnie hisses. Her strong reaction makes me back away from her.

"Did you two break up?" Caroline asks more mildly, but equally concerned.

I give myself a few seconds to think about it. I do not know why, because I have had plenty of time to think about it already, and I have reached a conclusion. We are not going to end our relationship in this manner. Even if we wanted to, I have a feeling something out there would not allow us to do so.

"Of course not," I reply, sure in the words I am saying. "We simply had a little disagreement."

Either I am getting better at this lying thing, or Caroline is too preoccupied with her own problems to notice that my lips are the color of worry, since she shifts her attention to Bonnie.

"What about you?" she asks less hopefully, but still asks.

"Damon is not really a movie type," she says. Her lips tremble while she speaks about him, I notice. I think that is because Bonnie has no idea what type of a guy Damon is.

"I am doomed!" Caroline cries out, stomping her foot against the floor like an unruly child.

"No, you are not," I say in a supportive manner, getting up from her cozy bed. "When are you going to see the movie?"

"Tomorrow."

"So, tonight I declare girls night! We are going to make snacks, update you on all things Marvel, and watch the previous movies," I look at Bonnie who nods in agreement.

"You would do that for me?" she asks with a teary voice. Like she does not know we would do so much more for her.

"Of course!" I put my arm around her shoulder. "You texted 911, the help is on the way."

* * *

"I think we tired her out," I say with a smile on my face while glancing at Caroline sprawled across her gigantic bed in what seems the most uncomfortable sleeping position. She is breathing into her pillows which are disabling her snores from being heard, creating an unusual echo.

"We?" Bonnie manages to sound overly dramatic while keeping her voice low. "I take no responsibility for her current state. It was all you and your _fun facts_."

I release a series of giggles through my barely sealed lips. I admit, I do know more things than I have let them to believe, but all the extra knowledge I have I owe to Stefan and his comic addiction.

"So, you and Stefan had a fight, huh?" she asks out of the blue.

I look up at her from under my lashes. "Yup," I reply with as little words as possible, indicating that this topic is not really up for discussion.

"How serious is it?" she does not ask out of curiosity, but out of worry.

"Depends on who you ask."

"You two never seemed like a couple who argues," she makes an observation.

"Oh, we argue plenty!" I perk up, remembering all of the silly little arguments we had over the short duration of our relationship. "About all kinds of things. Some more serious, some less. But we never fought, not until now."

Our arguments would always end with smiles or kisses or ice cream smudges on the tip of someones nose, and I liked those endings so much more than this one. Our fight ended with tears and words sharp as knives and half finished sentences.

"He was stubborn, I overreacted, and now neither one of us knows what to do. What the next step is."

"Yeah. I hear ya," she says.

The tone of her voice peeks my interest, and I stop myself from being sarcastic the exact moment before the words leave my mouth. Just because I am not Damon's biggest fan does not mean she deserves the same kind of treatment I would expose him to. "Problems with Damon?"

"As always," she huffs.

"Why do you stay with him, then?" I ask, my voice full of emotion. Mostly anger, because all he seems to bring her is pain.

"Believe me, I keep asking myself the same question," a tiny, painful laugh rips itself out of her lungs. "Remember that PB&J sandwich your dad made us when we were in Elementary school?"

I frown. "The one with the disgusting bread?"

My mom went on a gluten free diet after giving birth to Jeremy, so she bought herself gluten free bread which my dad used to make us a snack.

"Yup. The bread was distasteful, but what was inside was so delicious that we ate the sandwich despite the bread. See, Damon is a lot like that sandwich - he can be very unpleasant from the outside, but from the inside, especially when we are alone, he is quite nice."

Once she is done with her ramble, I can barely contain the smile threatening to stretch the skin around the corners of my lips.

"What?" she hisses.

"Nothing. I just cannot believe you compared Damon Salvatore to a PB&J sandwich."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, shut up," she picks up a tiny pillow in the shape of a heart and throws it at me. It lands in my lap.

I decide to get serious for a moment. "Okay, I understand that, but.." I look at her and her tired, glassy eyes. I have nothing to tell her that she has not heard before, or that she does not already know. "Be careful that what is inside is actually worth putting up with the rotten core."

* * *

At some point, Bonnie and me fall asleep as well. I think she goes down first because I have this clear image of her, lost in the sea of pillows, in my mind.

And at some point, my soul starts detaching itself from my body, inch by inch. I was never much of a philosopher, nor was I ever much of a believer, but I did think about how souls would look like if such things were to exist. I have always imagined them as these tiny balls of light, too bright to look at directly. But in reality they are thin, almost see through, and big enough to fill an ocean.

Once my soul leaves my body completely, I can see myself sleeping between my two best friends. I am empty because everything I am is floating in the air.

I am like Peter Pan without his shadow. And just like the said shadow, once I am free of the weight of my body, I fly away.

I fly through time and space, where my flesh cannot follow. I am sucked into a vacuum, spinning and twirling into nothingness, until I fall into a hole that spits me out in..

I have no idea where I am.

Somewhere where it is sunny. Blindingly sunny. The air is fresh, unpolluted, and when I look down I notice that the ground is covered with all the covers of a rainbow. I can hear the water running in the close proximity, as well as children laughing.

When I look in front of me I see an army of little wooden rooftops on top of little wooden houses. I move closer, between the houses, towards the noise. There is a woman hanging laundry with one hand, while she is holding a baby wrapped into a clean, white sheet in the other. She is not someone I know now, but she is someone I used to know then. Someone very important.

Her thick, brown hair is tucked into a bun on the top of her head, and she is wearing an olive dress covered by a vanilla apron. The baby is half asleep against her chest, but she is still singing a soothing song in a language I cannot understand. German, perhaps. Every now and then, she casts a glance at two screaming children running in the distance.

Their screams are not violent, but they are not pleasant either. Ordinary screams produced by playful children, to some annoying, to others a composition of youth and innocence. They are running through the fields of poppies and wheat, barefoot, yelling at each other, playing a game only known to them.

I recognize the boy as soon as I lay my eyes on him, with his sandy blond hair and lips formed into a cunning smile. Stefan, with his spring green eyes and chubby little fingers, bare feet and only a dirty white shirt on his back, is trying to catch a little girl running in front of him.

And the girl, in a flowery dress with two thick braids running down her back, is me.

A woman who was hanging laundry yells the girls name and both children stop dead in their tracks like they ran into an invisible wall. The girl turns to a boy and says something to him, something that saddens him very much so, because he bows his head down and pouts his lips. She puts her hand on his shoulder before running away from him, towards the woman, leaving him in the middle of a poppy field.

The woman looks at the boy with a sympathetic look in her eyes, but when a little girl crashes into her body she kisses the top of her head and rushes her inside.

Before I get the chance to look at the boy one last time I am sucked back into my body. I open my eyes as fast as if I never fell asleep and my body pops into a sitting position. I look straight ahead, into the window, where my look locks with two beady blue eyes. They are shinning - no, they are glowing. I do not recognize the person, but I do recognize the shape of a head, and something protruding out of it, like pointy demon horns. It takes me some time to realize those are the peaks of two feathery wings.

And once I realize that, I scream.

* * *

 _ **AN: I'm sorry for taking me this long to update. Life happened and it's taking more of my free time than I initially thought it would. I'm trying my best.**_


	21. Chapter 21

The sound of my scream continues to echo inside of my ears long after it stops creating vibrations in my throat. I keep my eyes locked on the window, even though the creature is long gone, and the only thing I can see now is pitch black darkness. Bonnie clasps her fingers around my shoulders, her long, catlike nails clashing with my trembling bones.

„Elena! Elena! Elena!" I hear her shouting my name over and over and over again, in the distance, somewhere behind my echoing scream. When I do not respond, her hold on me becomes stronger, more powerful, and her nails go into my skin.

I close my eyes, trying to concentrate on the now, hoping that the waking up of my senses will erase the nonexistent scream stuck in my head.

Once I shut my eyes closed, like a scared, over-imaginative child shuts the closet door so that the boogeyman cannot come out, I can see the creature on the back of my eyelids, its glowing eyes staring straight at me, its mischievous smile feeding at the sound of my scream.

"What.." I hear Caroline whisper, the fear that usually resides in the depths of her stomach moved inside of her mouth, determined to produce words. Maybe even sentences. Caroline is usually not afraid of anything, except maybe clogs coming back to style, yet her voice trembles to the rhythm of my bones. "What happened?" she continues more coherently once she manages to regain her posture, pushing the fear back down where it came from.

"I do not know!" Bonnie raises her voice. While Caroline is afraid to show her fear, Bonnie flaunts hers like fine jewelry.

With time, the creature starts fading away from my mind, and the only thing I can see on the back of my eyelids is darkness. I can hear my friends more clearly and my spirit goes back into my bones, allowing my body to move again.

"I saw something," I speak indifferently, blinking the light out of my eyes. "At least I thought I saw something," I correct myself once I realize I cannot describe what I saw to them. What I think I saw. Real or unreal, doesn't matter, I do not want to bring them into this mess.

Once I let my voice out, Bonnie starts letting go of me, removing one finger at a time until I cannot feel her touch on my skin anymore.

"Jesus, Elena," Caroline exhales before allowing her body to fall back on the bed, the tone of her voice indicating that she's annoyed with me, or at least she is pretending to be.

"You saw something?" she repeats my words, more inquisitively. The look on her face conveys distrust - her eyes are angry because I'm lying, but her lips are curved into a tiny, sharp smile because she had caught me in a lie.

"I woke up, looked outside the window and thought I saw a shadow," I do not allow my voice to waver while I am lying to my best friend while looking her straight in the eye. "It were branches swaying in the wind, though," I shrug my shoulders indifferently, indicating that I'm ready to put this whole thing behind us.

Whatever I'm selling, she is not buying. I can see the distrust in her eyes while her well oiled machine of a brain is creating numerous questions.

"Next time you confuse branches for people," Caroline murmurs groggily, already half asleep with her face stuffed in the pillows. "Scream internally," she barely finishes her sentence before detaching herself from the real world.

Bonnie looks at her sympathetically, but when she shifts her look to me, it hardens.

"Whatever," she brushes me off, and turns off the lights.

* * *

Bonnie falls asleep only minutes after Caroline does, but I cannot seem to lull myself to sleep. Caroline's body is twisted in a position that seems too painful to handle, while Bonnie lays on her part of the bed as straight as an arrow. She has her back turned to me, and I can feel her resenting me all the way from dreamland. I did not know Bonnie had such good nose for detecting lies until I started lying to her myself, nor did I know how easy it is to justify your untruths once you convince yourself that you are telling them for a better cause. Too keep others safe, or to keep yourself sane. At least in their eyes.

There are no monsters, or creatures in the night anymore. At least as far as I can see. Fear is not what is keeping me awake. Closing my eyes in order to see things that are not really there is not a requirement anymore. Now, I can do that just fine with my eyes open. My dreams are more of a problem when I am awake than they are when I am asleep. Calmness turns into confusion and hundreds upon hundreds of questions I simply cannot seem to find an answer to appear.

Once I wake up I realize how confusing they are, like a puzzle in which none of the pieces have the right edges. In one we are unspecified creatures living in some alternate universe, while in the other we are completely human growing up in a small, German village. Something does not quite add up. If these dreams are supposed to carry some prophetic meaning, then they are doing a lousy job.

I wish I could share my concerns with someone. My family is out of the question, for sure. My mother would probably book me a shrink appointment while I am in mid sentence. Bonnie and Caroline would be easier to confide in, but sooner or later I would probably have to say something along the line _'why are you looking at me like that, I am not crazy'_. And Stefan.. well, he has his own battles to fight and demons to scare away.

Sometimes I think I fell for him too soon. One day he was a stranger, and the other I held his hand like it is some long standing tradition. I still know very little about him. His family life is a complete mystery to me - he never talks about his parents, and he talks even less about his brother, even though he seems to know everything that is going on in Stefan's life. If I made a list of things that do not make sense about his life, Katherine would be on the top of it, though.

On the other hand, I am an open book. He has a full access to my memories and feelings and thoughts. I have entrusted him with so many of my secrets and doubts - I did not know that humans have so much space in their bodies for emotions that are not theirs.

And when I think about him, he is alien to me. Like he did not exist before that Summer. Like I made him up. Built him on the foundation of my own loneliness.

Yet, when I am with him, I do not need him to form words or sentences to feel like I know him. I know him in the way he kisses me, and in the way he holds me. I know how he feels by the shade of the color his eyes adapt, and that every kiss he leaves on my skin is an _'I love you'_ spelled in whispers.

So why do I demand words, when he gives me so much more?

* * *

 **STEFAN'S POV**

I remember seeing her in the hallways before I knew her. She was always with the popular crowd, even though she never seemed quite comfortable among them. Her smile was tight, restrained, like she is afraid to laugh in case the topic is not as funny as she thinks it is. She was the most beautiful of them all - she did not try too hard to be pretty, she just was, and her simplicity made her outstanding.

Sometimes, our paths met, and so did our eyes. But she would lower her look before anyone would see that she is looking the monster in the face without even thinking about spitting in it. She was kind, and she knew that that is her weakness.

I remember seeing her the first day of Summer camp. I was annoyed I had to be there, she was nostalgic. When I saw her I saw a straw of hope, and she saw trouble. Both of us turned to be right.

I know her better now. I know that her lips taste like cinnamon, and that she is wary of human touch. She lives in a tower of books, her favorite color is yellow, she is one of those people who love to sing even though she somehow manages to miss every note. She is kind and caring and loving and warm, and her love makes you feel like you are important. Worthy. Like your miserable existence has a meaning. She has so many opinions and she wants you to know every single one of them, and she wants to study Journalism even though she does not know it yet.

I have kissed every inch of her skin, her body is a crime scene full of my fingerprints, and yet I once again stand on the other side of the hallway, watching her from afar.

She is so stubborn. And I am such a giant fuck up. Why cannot I keep my damn mouth shut? Or at least control the crap that comes out of it?

Something is going on with her. Something is going on with both of us. She talks about her dreams like they are some mystery she has to crack. My dreams are torture, and they do not come naturally. It feels like someone is secretly forcing them into my brain after I fall asleep, like someone cracks my skull open and plants these awful things inside of my head. She is emotionally invested in these people, in their lives, and I see them as cheap copies of us. I see _us_ as cheap copies of who we really are, or at least of who we used to be.

We are looking at the same screen, but we are watching two completely different movies.

I do not know how I know the things I know. I do not know where have I acquired this knowledge, or why I treat it as a fact instead of a badly written fiction. Maybe I have spent too much of my time hoping that my life is not real that I have finally managed to convince myself in it.

She shifts her attention towards me. I expect her to avert her gaze, like she used to do, but she does not meet my expectations. Instead, she starts walking in my direction, leaving her friends behind. They look at me in a threatening manner. When she comes near me, she does not say a thing but grabs me by my sleeve and pulls me after her. I have no other choice but to follow.

* * *

"So.." he says.

"So.." I follow.

"Is there a reason why you dragged us in a broom closet?" he asks.

I did drag us in a broom closet, and I really am hoping that the thing pressing against my spine is a broom. It was a rather rash decision, actually. I saw him staring at me - well, I rather felt him staring at me - and when I looked back at him, I remembered that I miss him. But I also remembered that I am angry with him. Which is why we are here, I guess, because those two emotions collided and I did not know which one to listen to.

I start feeling the wall for a switch, accidentally grazing his arm a couple of times in the process. After few seconds of groping the wall I finally find the switch and the lights come on.

I see his face from up close now. His eyes are bright, the color of a young, Spring grass, and there is some blush on his cheeks. I want to kiss him so badly, which is why I lower my eyes to his lips, examining them, expecting the same thing in return. When he does not show the same sort of desire towards me, I bring my look up and clear my throat through a cough in order to hide my disappointment, and a bit of pain.

"We need to talk," I say sternly.

"I agree," he nods, to my surprise. Stefan usually does not really jump at the opportunity of a conversation.

"I am sorry for how I behaved that day when I came over to your house," I start, because I really am sorry. I behaved like a child when I could have handled the whole thing like an adult.

"I am sorry for how I behaved as well," he lowers his head in shame for several seconds before slowly bringing it back to its natural position. "I should not have tried to convince you into something you are not open to believing. Especially not in such a cryptic way."

"You really, really confused me," I say, putting an emphasis on the word _really_. I do not remember that day fondly, nor do I like to remember it often, but when I will myself to do I realize what a mess it was. I was saying one thing, he was saying something completely else, and we did not really listen to one another other at all.

"I know I did," he nods. _'Sometimes, I confuse myself as well'_ is written all over his face.

Now it is my turn to lower my head because I do not know how to say what I have intended to say to him.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he notices the shift in my behavior.

"I want to be with you, Stefan," I whisper. "But I cannot be with you if you do not talk to me, if you do not let me in," my eyes fill with tears at the thought of losing him. Knowing parts and bits of him is worse than not knowing him at all.

His breathing fastens - I can hear him exhaling more and more quickly with each passing second. "What do you want me to say?" he asks desperately, losing control over his own words.

I look up at him, my eyes full of tears, but the lines of my face are stacked together in a way that conveys annoyance and anger. "It is not about what I want you to say, it is about you wanting to say it, needing to share it," I try to explain. But I am tired of explaining it time after time when he does not seem to get it. "You do not feel the need to share anything with me, do you?"

He frowns at my words. "Well, I am sorry Elena," he says angrily. "I am sorry I do not function the way you want me to. I am sorry I am not used to sharing every one of my feelings and thoughts. No one was ever interested in how my day was, or what my opinion is on the certain topic, or how this or that makes me feel. I did not grow up like that, and I am not used to living a life in which people care for me so much that my well-being is fundamentally connected to theirs." The frown never leaves his face - it deepens - and his skin becomes so red that at one point I think he is actually going to explode.

His words hang heavily above me, each and every one of them falling on the top of my head like their intention, their only purpose, is to hurt me. I know that he had a rough life. I know what people did to him, what they said about him, and what kind of stories they would make up about him simply because they were bored with their own little, petty lives. I know that he did not have anyone, apart from his brother, to look out after him. And every time I bring this topic up, my own guilt eats me up from the inside. _'How can you be this cruel?'_ , my own conscience asks me.

"I know that, Stefan," I say more calmly, my voice full of sympathy. "I know you did not have anyone, but you do now. And she is standing in front of you, begging you to let her know you the same way you know her. Do you really think I do not care for you?"

"I know you do," he says defensively, like that question offended him for more reasons than one. "I simply do not know why. I do not know why people care to know these things about other people."

I look into his eyes which have, somehow, adapted the color of the storm. He does not say these things to get away with his behavior, he says them in all honesty. It is like he is emotionally undeveloped when it comes to certain aspects of life.

"But you ask me these things," I say softly, hoping to prove a point. "You ask me how my day was, what book did I check out at the library, what did my mother make for dinner. You ask me all kinds of things that have no real importance. Why do you think that is?"

"I ask you those questions because I want to know the answer. I want to know you, I want to know who you are when you are not with me."

"Because you care about me," I say.

"Because I care about you," he repeats knowingly. His pupils widen, and his eyes begin to glimmer like he is opening the doors to a completely new world.

"You do know why people care to know these things about other people, you simply cannot phantom why would anyone want to know them about you," I say sadly, reaching for his hand. He lets me grab it without any resistance. It feels so good to feel his skin on mine again. "But I do," I squeeze his fingers with mine.

He doesn't reply. He doesn't even look at me. And he stays silent for so long that I lose all hope I had put in getting an answer. I keep holding his hand, though, squeezing his fingers with mine like I am trying to pump blood into his veins.

I wanted to hear him speak for so long, but once he actually opens his mouth the sound of his voice surprises me. "I had chocolate puffs for breakfast this morning," he says quietly, like he's ashamed of saying such a trivial thing out of the blue.

"Oh," I gasp. "Are those your favorite?" I ask excitedly, like a child.

"No, Cap'n Crunch is, but Damon ate them all," he looks up at me with his brows furrowed, clearly angry at his brother for eating his favorite cereal.

I want to say that my mom never allows us to run out of cereal, she always has an extra box saved in the pantry, but that seems too cruel to say to someone who doesn't have a mom.

"Jeremy would always eat all of my favorite cereal when we were kids, too," is what I decide to say instead.

"When you were kids? Are you saying you are too grown up for cereal?" he cocks his eyebrow at me, amused by this little play we have set up.

"Of course," I throw my hair over my shoulder. "I am a serious, grown up woman," I say jokingly.

"Mhm," he hums. Somehow, his hands find their way around my waist without me noticing, and he pulls my body closer to his. "One day, I am going to make you breakfast from ten different kinds of cereals, and it is going to rock your world."

The idea of him making me breakfast sounds almost too good to refuse.

"Uh, ten?" I throw my arms around his neck, the tips of my fingers hovering over his shoulders. "That sounds too wild."

He tightens his arms around my body, pulling me closer to him. "Sassy," he whispers, his lips dangerously close to mine.

"Stefan," I say.

"Mhm?" he murmurs, his look locked on the lower part of my face.

"How long will it take for you to finally kiss me?" I ask, a smile forming on my lips.

It never gets to form fully, though, because it gets swallowed by his kiss.


	22. Chapter 22

**STEFAN'S POV**

When I was younger, I would scare myself with the thought that I will never learn how to be kind, or caring, or loving, or gentle. I used to think that violence and anger were written all over my code, and even though this world allows us to change a lot of things about ourselves, genes are still not one of them.

My father has been angry for as long as I can remember, and to this day I do not know why. I do not know what had happened to him to make him so annoyed at everything that would come his way, what made him crave for destruction. There must have been time when he was good, or my mother would not have married him. Damon, who was always protective, but never very warm, would say that men like him learn how to hide their true nature.

When I was little, my father would say I am such a _momma's boy_ , and he would say it like it is an insult. Today, while I am holding her in my arms, I know that he was never insulting me, he was jealous of me. Because my mom was kind, and despite his constant abuse she never changed, and neither did I. And he wanted at least one of us to change so he does not have to be alone in his darkness.

I do not remember my mom as clearly as I used to, but I do remember her warmth, and the sound of her voice while she would put me to sleep. I held on to the sound of her voice everytime my father would come home drunk, smashing and kicking everything he would stumble upon. She made sure I learn all the positive sides of being human before she left me. And now, with Elena's head on my lap and her body sprawled across my bedroom floor, I whisper a quiet _thank you, mom_.

Even when she is being as stubborn and inquisitive as today.

"Have you really never, I do not know, fantasized about it?" She looks up at me, and her eyes light up with wonder.

I pull my fingers through her hair, its silkiness tickling the thin skin between my fingers. "You are the only person I know who fantasizes about education."

She furrows her brows for a single moment before letting them fall back into their place. "Well, it is very depressing to think that I have learned everything there is to learn by the time I turn 18."

She does have a point, even though I would never, ever let her know that, especially not in a moment where I can challenge her further. Because that is kinda our thing, we challenge each other. "And you think that everything you need to learn, you will learn in college?"

She exhales through her nostrils which is how I know I have started to irritate her. "Well, not necessarily inside of a classroom, but I do believe it is a valuable experience. Do you not agree?"

I shrug. I already have formed an opinion on this topic, and it is not very lengthy. "I do not believe in formal education. It is based on forced studying so they can place us in a system of standardized assessment rather than on actual thinking, or talent."

"That is not true!" she exclaims passionately, lifting her head from my lap. "Sure, the system is flawed, but you cannot seriously claim that academic achievements are meaningless!" her body rolls away from mine. "You only say that because you did not have an enjoyable experience in school," she states.

 _Joy_ and _school_ are two words that should never be found together in the same sentence, and _enjoyable school experience_ seems like an oxymoron to me.

"Exactly!" I point my finger at her victoriously. "Academic achievements are connected to the schools social hierarchy. There are power groups, a social elite, who open a book once a month because they were either born wealthy and can buy themselves a way to any college in the country, or they excel in a particular area which is an instant guarantee for a scholarship. Out of some reason, they exert their power on members of social groups labeled as geeks and nerds who actually have to work very hard in order to get where the opposite group gets by owning money or kicking a ball for a specified amount of time. And the academia loves them both because the second provides them with brains to evolve, and the first with funds necessary to grow. Which is why people like me suffer. Because we do not matter, since we do not contribute in any way, at least not by their standards."

She rolls her eyes at that last statement. "People like you?"

"Yes. People who live on the margin. Who are curious about everything, but not really good at areas which qualify as economic gear, or scientific areas. There are no social groups in which you could place us, the academic world does not know what to do with us, so they write us off, slowly. Instead of exploring our interests, they tell us that we should make effort to fit into one of the already existing groups. And when we, obviously, cannot do so they write us off as uninterested and destructive and label us as failures despite our potential."

She stays silent for a while because she knows that I am right. If you are on the good side of things you are really not interested in the bad side, and if you are on the bad side of things you are really not provided with a lot of chances to make your arguments heard.

"Okay," she finally nods, ready to retaliate. "Even if that is how high school works, can you really claim that that is how college works?"

I pull my lips into a thin line. "No, I cannot, but once they label you as a failure in high school, they close so many doors for future opportunities."

"But do you not owe it to yourself to at least try?" she scoots closer to me. "To prove them wrong? To prove yourself right? Where is your potential, Stefan? What did they deem unworthy?" she puts her hand on top of mine.

I think for a moment. Do I show it to her, or not? Why am I even asking myself such question? Did not I promise to myself, and her, not such a long time ago, no more secrets? No more unfinished sentences?

"Just a second," I say as I push myself up. I head towards my dresser where I, from the top drawer, pull out a thick folder. I walk back to her and place the folder in her lap after pulling myself back down.

She takes the folders in her hands and pulls her fingers over the black leather binding. "Open it," I urge her, and she puts her finger under the rubber holding the folder closed.

"There are only few things I know about my mom, but one of them is that she could draw. One of my earliest memories of her is her sitting in our backyard with a brush between her fingers, her clothes stained with colors I, back then, could not even name. Our attic is full of her paintings. And even though my father has outlived her, there is an even lesser number of things I know about him. Growing up in her absence, I was afraid I will turn out just like him."

She finally opens the folder and releases a tiny, barely audible gasp.

I bow my head. "Like you can see, my fear was wasted."

She takes the first paper from the hefty pile out of the folder and starts studying it with a glowing shimmer in her eyes.

"I am not as good at arranging colors as she was, I am better with black and white."

She starts pulling paper after paper out of their safe place in the folder until it is empty and all of my work is lying on my bedroom floor, surrounding us. "This is amazing!" she says excitedly, looking from one sheet to another. "Stefan, this can get you into any art school in the country, no questions asked."

"Oh, I think there is at least one question they would ask - _where the hell is our money_ , or something along those lines," I retort bitterly.

She looks up from my artwork to me. "There are scholarships - "

"I do not have a GPA for a scholarship," I cut her off.

"Then we look into other options," she says, pretty determined.

I shake my head. "Elena, - "

"No!" she raises her voice at me. "Do not Elena me. No buts, no arguments, no pessimism. We look into other options. Look, I know that high school has been literal hell for you, but that does not mean the rest of your life has to be. If you want the world to correct its mistakes, you gotta give it a chance."

It is safe to say no one has ever believed in me the way Elena Gilbert does, and I do not think anyone ever will.

So I give in, more for her sake than my own. "What do you propose we do, then?"

Her eyes light up with a special shade of brown, shade I have not had the chance to see before. "We will explore all the options tomorrow after school at the guidance counselors office."

I was there once or twice myself, for a very different reason. She was very kind, always sporting a sympathetic look in her eyes whenever she would tell me that, unfortunately, they still have not been able to get a hold of my father. _Well, yeah, neither have I, so do not take it personally._

"How about you?" I decide to turn tables on her, because I know she still has not decided where she will be going to next year either.

She cocks her head to the side. "How about me what?"

"Have you decided where you want to go?"

She crinkles her nose. "I am still exploring my options," she replies sternly.

"Exploring? The only thing you have to do is apply. With your grades, all doors are wide open."

She exhales tiredly. "You sound like my parents. They want me to go somewhere where I can and will do something relevant. Change the world or something."

"Well, if anyone can do it, it is you," I say in all seriousness, because I truly believe that. She has as much of a chance in doing so as characters from my comics do, even without the radioactive spider bite or specially engineered superhero suit. She does not need any special powers to be a hero, all she needs to do is be herself.

She looks at me from under her lashes. "Just because I can does not mean I want to," she replies with a voice of an unruly child.

I place the palms of my hands on her knees. "Well, sucks. You are destined for greatness and that is the burden you have to bare," I smirk.

"Fine," she rolls her eyes, but at the same time smiles in return. "Later, though. Right now, there is something else I have to do."

"And what is that?" I ask curiously.

Her smile deepens, and she moves her hands cautiously, carefully, skilfully.. like a woman on a mission. She puts her hands on top of mine, pressing my fingers deeper into her skin. With the mild strength of her arms she pushes herself towards me. With her lips hovering only inches away from mine, she simply whispers - " _This_ " - and kisses me without warning. Not that she needs to warn me, I like this kind of a attack and I wish all of life's surprises tasted as good as she does.

I move my hands from under hers and place them on her hips, slowly pulling her closer to me. Every time I touch her, my hands feel so misplaced, like I am reaching for something I am not worthy of. I could spend a lifetime trying to earn her touch, and I would still come short.

She unloosens her body and allows me to pull her into my lap. Only several seconds pass before I start leaning towards the floor, with her on top of me. Her hands start wandering like hungry, wild animals all over my body. They find their way under my shirt and she pulls her fingers along the entire length of my chest. My hands adapt the same characteristic and, by some wild instinct, end up on her butt. As she bent her skirt hiked up her legs, now resting on her hips, which means that my hands are directly on her panties.

"Elena," I murmur her name between the kisses.

"Sorry," she murmurs back. "But you know how horny I get after school talk."

Laughter escapes from the bottom of my lungs. "You are such a nerd."

Her lips shift attention from my mouth to my jaw. "Takes one to know one."

* * *

"They are very good, do you not think?" I ask Mrs. Roberts as she goes through Stefan's drawings, piece by piece. After a long debate, I have finally convinced him to bring his folder to school for Mrs. Roberts, our guidance counselor, to see.

She takes the paper between her long, slender fingers and brings it closer to her face for further examination. Stefan gets extremely tense in the chair next to me once the paper collides with the tip of Mrs. Roberts nose. "Well," she clicks her tongue, "They do seem wonderful. At least to my untrained eye."

When Stefan does not take over the conversation, I continue - "My thoughts exactly!" I say excitedly while nudging him with my elbow, hopefully out of Mrs. Roberts field of view.

He is carefully tracking the movement of her hands, clearly nervous to have someone else handle his artwork, so it takes few nudges for him to get my message.

"Uh, thank you," he murmurs.

Mrs. Roberts gives him a look from under her glasses. He had told me that he is already acquainted with our guidance counselor, but considering his living conditions their meetings probably were not comfortable for either of them.

I look at him, squeezing my lips into a long, thin line, urging him to speak.

"I, um," he scratches the back of his neck, probably unnecessarily. "I would like to apply for some Art schools," he finally gets the entire sentence out.

"Oh!" she exhales, surprised, him applying for an Art school or any other institution of higher education was probably the furthest thing from her mind. I realize how annoying and demotivating it is, to hear gasps of surprise whenever you try to do something more than people expect from you. "Well," she stands up and goes to the cabinet where she keeps all of the brochures for students. "Are you interested in ones in our out of the state?" she inquiries.

"Both," he answers like a loose cannon.

"Okay," her head bobs up and down, nodding either uncertainly or approvingly. She reaches into the back of the cabinet and takes out a stack of colorful brochures out of it.

Stefan looks like he does not know what to do with them once she hands them over to him. It does seem silly, your entire future laid out to you in a stack of papers.

"Art schools are as prestigious as it is, but there are those that are better and those that are less better. I am sure you will find something in there for you," she says soothingly.

"Um, thank you," he puts what must be at least thirty brochures into his backpack.

"As much as having all these options is helpful," I add, trying to sound grateful. "That is not why we are here. We are here to explore all the options for applying for financial support."

When it comes to Art schools, your GPA does not matter as much as your talent does, as well as having money so they can make sure you can pay them for developing your talent further.

This time, she exhales a different kind of _oh_ , one I cannot really place into a certain category. "Of course," she nods understandingly. "How about you write me down your e-mail address?" she places a notebook and a pen in front of Stefan, "And I will e-mail you all the forms."

Stefan takes the pen into his hands and scribbles something down into the notebook. "Sure. Here you go."

"Wonderful!" she takes the notebook out of his hands. "Once you receive the forms, if you have any questions, you can always stop by my office. Even without the chaperone," she gives me a sly look.

"Great," he stands up as soon as possible which is how I know this situation has gotten too personal for him to handle. "Thank you for everything," his hand is on the door handle sooner than I am able to leave my chair.

"Elena," Mrs. Roberts say my name, "Could you please stay for a moment?"

I look at Stefan. He nods, squeezing the handle with his fingers. "I will wait for you outside."

I nod in return before turning back to face Mrs. Roberts.

"I would have never thought that you two would end up together," she says as soon as Stefan closes the door behind him.

That is a general opinion, but I am kinda sick and tired of having to hear it over and over again. "Stranger things have happened," I smile nervously, because I cannot believe I am having a conversation about my personal life with a school official.

"Indeed. I think it is really nice from you that you are helping him out like this."

I do not like the way she says it, like he is my charity case. A project I have taken upon myself so I can feel good about myself.

"He is doing all the work, I am just steering him in the right direction."

She presses her lips together, uncertain of the words that are about to come out of her mouth. "I would not like to see your future suffering for the sake of his," she lets them out after all, because such is human nature.

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"I believe you still have not sent any of your college applications," she notes.

"I am exploring my options."

"You have all the options open. You can go anywhere you want, and be anything you want."

So I have heard. That line has been used by my family and friends many times this year, recently increasing in quantity.

"You have the highest GPA in the entire class," she adds.

I hate this line. I hate hearing it, and I hate having it constantly used against me. It does not mean anything. It only means that I was a bit responsible than all the other kids, and that I skipped a party here and there to prepare for an exam, and as a result I have more than one option to choose from. My decision to read instead to get drunk does not mean I know what I want to do with the rest of my life, and only because I am hardworking does not mean I am more enlightened than everyone else.

"I still have time," I defend myself.

"Technically, yes. But students as bright as you are applying for early admissions for best schools in the country - Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Berkely.. You deserve to be one of them!" she exclaims passionately.

Do I? Maybe I do. Maybe I am more deserving of quality higher education than my peers because I knew how to get my priorities straight at the age of 16. Yet, it still does not mean I know where to go or what to do. Just because I can get into Harvard does not mean I want to get into Harvard. What would I even do there?

"Some people develop faster than others."

I am not one of those people. I have good grades because of who I am, not because I know who I want to be. I still have not found my place in the world, and at this point I do not even know where to start looking.

"You should not hold yourself back simply because Stefan is trotting behind you."

That sentence pushes me off the edge. "First of all, Stefan is not trotting behind me. We are walking side by side. It only took him a little while longer to catch up with me. Secondly, if you think I am capable enough to get into some of the best schools in the country, believe I am capable enough of making my own decisions."

She looks at me kindly. "And believe me when I tell you that you are not the first girl who made wrong decisions because she fell in love."

I clench my fists. "You do not know me. You do not know how I think, or how I feel. Even if I do make decisions based on who I love, they are going to be my decisions, and I will have to live with them. Now excuse me," I say while getting up. "I have work to do," I do not say goodbye before I storm out of her office, anger painted all over my face.

Stefan is standing across from her office, leaning against a wall. When he catches the look on my face, his eyes grow wide with worry.

"Is everything okay?" he asks.

"Yes," I say a little too unkindly. "Let's go."

* * *

Stefan does not ask any questions. He can see that I am not in the mood. I drop him off at his house and drive myself to The Grill, just in time for my shift. Thankfully, the place is packed, which leaves me little to no time for thinking about the conversation I had with Mrs. Roberts. But once the place empties, I sit on the stool by the counter and pull college applications out of my bag.

Maybe I do not know what I want to be, but I know what I definitely do not want to be. A professor. A doctor. A manager. A kindergarten teacher. The list goes on and on, but it does not bring me even a step closer to finding out what I want to do with the rest of my life.

"Hey, kiddo," my dad appears from behind me. "Ooooh, college applications!" he exclaims, his eyes shimmering when they come in contact with the stack of papers in front of me.

"Yeah," I say, way less excited about them than he is.

"Where are you applying?" he pulls out a stool and sits next to me, ready for some father-daughter bonding time.

"I have no idea," I huff. "I had a chat with our guidance counselor today. She thinks I am stalling because of Stefan."

"Well, are you?" he wonders.

"Et tu, Brute? No!" I exclaim, almost defensively. "It has nothing to do with him. I know that there's a very, very low chance that we are going to end up in the same place or near each other. It has everything to do with me and my inability to make this decision," I say in one breath.

"Why do you think you cannot make it, then?"

"Because I keep hearing about how bright I am, how good my grades are, how I can get anywhere I want, and I should want to attend one of the best schools in the country. Everyone are expecting something from me. You, mom, Stefan, my friends.. even the people I do not really know!"

He furrows his brows, like he is confused about something. "And you do not want to attend one of the best schools in the country?"

"Of course I do," I answer without thinking. I like education, I like learning new things, and I have worked hard so I can go somewhere where they are going to teach me everything I want to know, and more.

He puts his hand on my shoulder. "We do not want to pressure you. The only thing we expect from you is to choose wisely, and to choose what is going to make you happy, because we love you."

"So you are going to stand by me no matter what?"

"Of course! I believe in you. We all do. And we know how smart you are, and we put our trust in you."

"Thanks, dad," I exhale. "It means a lot. However," I put my palm on the pile of papers on the counter, "I still have no idea where to go."

"Having all these options to choose from must be frustrating. How about you try making a list of things you love doing, and see how you go from there?"

I nod. "That seems like a good idea."

He smiles at me. "See you home?"

"In a bit," I reply.

He plasters a kiss in the middle of my forehead, and leaves.


	23. Chapter 23

As it turns out, my dad does know what he is talking about. His advice worked like a charm. Once I started thinking about what I actually enjoy doing, compiling a list of top three schools I want to go to turned out to be easier than I expected it to be. Who knew that an answer to what career I want lies in the thing I have been basically interested in my entire life? Not me.

However, as silly as that may sound now, in the beginning I did not know where to start. I started writing down everything I like. Food was the first thing on my list, but since I have not cooked or baked or prepared a meal once in my life, becoming a chef was out of the question. Dogs were the second thing on the list, but I did not know where to go from there. I guess I could become a vet, but then I would have to deal with other animals as well, which is not something I am excited about. Also, I do not want to be responsible for someone else's life, which means that becoming a doctor is a out of the question as well. After writing down a bunch of random things, I finally wrote down a word I knew what to do with - _writing_.

So, like every other good nerd would do, I took another piece of paper and made a mental map, trying to come up with all the career paths connected to writing. And after a lot of thinking and pondering, it finally came down to two options - _publishing_ and _journalism_. Then came the soul searching and extensive research on both, until I have finally decided on journalism.

I am sitting on the floor of Stefan's room. My hair is wet and stringy from the downpour that had caught me on my way over to his house. It took me less than 30 seconds from my car to the front door, and that small amount of time was enough for the massive raindrops to deem my clothes unwearable. I am sitting on the floor of Stefan's room, wearing his shirt, my toes freezing under my thankfully dry socks. There's a stack of college applications in my lap, but they seem way easier now than they did few days ago. Like a quiz I know all the answers to. I fill in all the blank spaces. _Northwestern University, Emerson College, University of Missouri - Columbia, University of California - Berkeley.._

Sitting like this, the hem of Stefan's shirt almost reaches my knees. I do not feel cold here, he had made sure of that by turning up the heating. I look up at him - my eyes willingly leave the half written paper on my lap and land on the back of his neck. He is sitting by the desk, writing furiously on his laptop, filling out numerous financial aid papers, his one and only ticket to higher education. Because of his living situation, he is eligible for most of them, so there are high chances of him receiving aid from at least one source.

I think this is one of those moments I will tell my kids about when they ask me what I did when I was their age, or how did it feel to fall in love for the first time. I will tell them about the afternoons I have spent sitting on the floor of my boyfriends room, my skin wet and tingly and covered with goosebumps, my mind and my heart at peace. I will tell them about the static waves in my ear, unlawful voice of life telling me that this is what pure, unaltered happiness feels like. I will tell them about a boy who was like the sea, peaceful on the surface while hiding all kinds of disastrous things in his depths, and how I have loved him more than a person who has witnessed only 18 earth rotations should.

"Dammit," he says, pushing his entire body against the back of the chair. "Why do they need so much information? I do not know half of the questions concerning my father," he huffs, swallowing the word father, like he regrets having it in his vocabulary.

I place my papers aside, and stand up. I place my hands on his shoulders once I reach him - he does not turn to me, but keeps staring at the screen as a ultimate signal that he is running out of his nerves. My fingertips whisper to me to push them deeper into his skin, but his firm muscles are preventing me from doing so.

I lower my head near his, and whisper into his ear, "Sounds like you need a break." I wonder is the smile on my lips audible as well. I drape my arm over his shoulder, and lower my chin on the one nearer to me while watching his lips form into a smile. That is how I know I have his attention.

"What did you have in mind?" he pulls his eyes over to me lazily.

"Hmm.." I pull my chin up, placing both of my hands firmly back on his shoulders, wrapping my fingers around his blades. While I am standing, his shirt barely reaches my mid-thighs, so naturally that is where his look goes first once I raise my leg in order to place it on the other side of his body.

I place myself in his lap, a playful smile dancing on my lips. "Nothing, really," I brush the words of my lips as if I really mean them.

He was so tense, you could have see it from miles away. This thing, this new step, this dangerous hope weighing heavily over him, eating him bit by bit. The only thing wrong with the world of possibilities is that some things never grow out of their possible phase, and they remain possibilities forever. But once placed under my body, his relaxes, and I feel like a witch with more power in the air around me than most people have in their entire body.

I feel sorry for him. I do not pity him because he does not remember the comfort of his mothers hug, or because he never made friends in the cardboard box that is our school. I feel sorry for him because he will never be able to look at himself from my perspective and see how truly and utterly wonderful he is.

He puts his arms around my waist. The small of my back is a point of collision for his fingers. His arms around me make a cage for my body - I do not mind being trapped like this.

"Nothing?" he asks suspiciously, one eyebrow raised. "Really?" he tightens his hold on me, slowly inching me towards him.

I move my hand from his shoulders to his chest, pushing my palms against his muscles.

"Well," I bite my lower lip seductively, looking him straight in the eyes. "Maybe I did have something in mind."

"Oh?" he releases a mellow sound, playing innocent, like I do not know what is going on in his head. Probably the same thing that is going on in mine. "I wonder what," he says playfully, transforming his words into a song.

At that, I giggle. I hate the sound I am producing, but judging by his face he finds it amusing. I would continue, if I were here for his amusement, but I am not. When I kill the sound, he drags his eyes away from mine, paying attention to the other parts of my body.

"My eyes are up here, Stefan," I scold him, at the same time wondering why do people use that expression? Is it because eyes are a mirror to ones soul? So when women say _'my eyes are up here'_ , what they actually mean is _'I am up here'_. I am more than this flesh I am inhabiting.

"Oh, I know," he either does not hear the annoyance in the tone of my voice, or he chooses to ignore it. "I have studied them well. They are beautiful. Now it is time for me to study your body, hiding underneath my shirt," he says coyly, trying to reason with me.

"Do guys really dig that?" I ask out of curiosity, since I do not think I would be fine with him wearing my clothes.

"Yes," he nods eagerly.

"Why?"

He furrows his brows, but releases them after a short while. "I do not know."

I guess it is a primal thing, wrapping something you wish belonged to you into something that actually does. People are not things, though, and they do not belong to other people.

"Hmm," I hum, closing the distance between us. I bring my lips closer to his, the warmth of his breath bathing my entire face, his hands following the curve of my spine as I bend towards him. "Instead of admiring your shirt on my body, how about you admire what is underneath it?" I press my lips against his and swallow the surprised gasp that he makes.

I push my entire body against his, my chest resting on top of his. His heart is threatening to break his rib cage open with its thumping. My shirt climbs up my legs, barely covering my butt. Luckily, his brain manages to recover from my remark, and his hands take over the business his shirt has failed to do. I enjoy the feeling of his palms covering my skin, and I wish they could cover every inch of it at once.

I am not a very sexual person. At least I do not consider myself to be. While my friends were discovering the charms of exchanging bodily fluids, I was reading Jane Austen, regretting that human race has not preserved certain forms of flirtation. There were boys I thought were cute, good looking, dare I say even hot, but I never had that Caroline-like urge to jump one of them and kiss them like there is no tomorrow. Which is why I blame Stefan for my wandering eyes and burning skin. Whenever I see him, my eyes instantly go to his lips, and I can taste him inside my mouth. I crave for him when he is away. I cannot get enough of him when he is next to me. He is like the last piece of chocolate in the wrapper - it ruins you, because once you eat it, you want more. It spoils your dinner, just like he had spoiled me for the rest of my life.

He starts moving his hands _up, up, up_ my body, his fingers sinking into the softness of my flesh. The tips of his fingers are leaving the trail of fire over my entire body, but I do not turn into ashes - I simply keep burning.

He stops kissing my lips, but his never leave my skin. He simply lowers them to my jaw, then to my neck, hovering around the collar of my shirt. I am a dart board, and every spot he hits carries 50 points. I can feel my body weakening under his touch, my arms now hang lifelessly on his shoulders, unable to move. Is love supposed to cripple you? Make you surrender, make you willing like a roofie placed in an innocent girls drink while she is not looking? Is this how you know that you are loved, when you are left powerless?

That is one way of looking at it. Those are the words my fear keeps whispering in my ear, but if my happiness were to take over the stage it would say that to love is to trust. Love does not take your power away, or make you weak, it makes you trusting enough to relax into someone else's arms as if they were your own.

The mix of emotions starts bubbling inside of my body, piling up inside of my throat, and when I cannot hold them inside anymore, I moan into his ear. My body is a yellow brick road, and his hands are as determined as Dorothy to walk over every inch of it in order to arrive to the finish line before the time runs out. He reaches deeper inside of my shirt, but I do not complain.

My panties are on the verge of ripping themselves apart.

And I wish they would, so I can finally get it over with. So my friends do not have to ask me that dreadful question ever again. So I do not have to make excuses for myself.

What is stopping me?

My limbs regain consciousness again, and my fingers start fumbling around the hem of his shirt. I feel like a clumsy child whose chubby fingers are far too small for the adventure she is trying to catch among them.

After a while, I finally catch the material between my fingers, slowly lifting it up. He stops kissing me, taken back by my action. He gives me a surprised look, but does not dare to utter a word. I pull his shirt up over the entire length of his torso, until it finally goes over his head. He looks like he wants to ask me million questions, but is not sure he is supposed to.

Okay. I totally know what to do next.

I get rid of his shirt by throwing it on the floor.

Wrong. I have no idea what to do next.

Should I kiss him? I should totally kiss him.

I lean in towards him, hands first, and gently press my lips against his. His skin is silky smooth, nothing like mine. I am soft, he is firm and hard. His hands move down my body, until they finally find their resting place on my hips. His thumbs graze my panties, catching under their hem, and I do not protest.

If he tries to tug them down, I would not dare to protest either.

I am ready for him.

Until I hear a scream. Not a frightened one, but an annoyed one. One that signals a loss of nerves. One a person produces when there is nothing else to do.

He jerks under me, and I peel my body away from his. Because that is what people do when they hear someone scream, but also because I know that voice.

One of the doors in the hallway fly open, crashing into the wall behind them, and a pair of feet stomps out of the room angrily.

"I cannot believe you!" the voice says.

The voice that belongs to Bonnie.

Another pair of feet follows, and so does his roaring voice.

"Was I not clear from the start?"

I stand up, moving away from Stefan. He tries to catch me, but I slip through his fingers.

"You are an ass, Damon," she lashes out on him. "That is what you are, and that is all you will ever be!"

I spin the door handle and walk out of the room, stepping between them.

"Bonnie?" I say her name worriedly.

She seems surprised to see me here, more surprise than she should be. She looks ashamed, she never wanted me to see her like this.

Stefan steps out of the room as well, with an inquisitive look on his face. "What is going on?"

I look at Damon, who is standing in front of the open door of his bedroom, like he is guarding it. And when I look closer behind him, I realize that he is. He is trying to hide the messed up sheets on his bed and dark, brown curls spilling all over them.

I frown at him. I want to rip his heart out and make him it eat. I look back at him and he knows that I know.

Bonnie starts moving towards the front door.

I turn around to face Stefan with an apologetic expression.

"Go," he says, as if there is no other choice.

I give him a peck on the cheek, grab my half dry pants and hurry after my friend.

* * *

She walked there. She fucking walked there to see him, only to catch him balls deep into second most unpleasant person I have met in my entire life.

She wanted to walk back home as well, but I have convinced her to let me drive her back into town. Leaving her alone was the last thing on my mind, so I have proposed we go to The Grill, which should be empty by now, bribing her with a cup of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows inside. That was an offer she could not refuse.

"I was so stupid," she says before dropping her head on the table. "I cannot believe I was one of those girls.."

I do not ask her to define the girls she is referring to, even though I am awfully curious. I will not interrupt her, I will simply let her vent for as long as she needs to.

"You know, those girls," she says those last two words in a hushed tone of voice, like they - whoever they are - will hear her talking about them behind their back. "Who believe that they can change a guy. Who believe that he will eventually fall for them, that casual sex will not be enough for him. Well, guess what," she raises her head, her dark curls falling over her tired, yet stormy eyes, "It is. He has more than enough of it, so he goes around sticking it into other girls as well."

I cannot believe Damon would sleep with Katherine. Actually, I can, they are both horrible people, cut from the same ugly cloth. It would not surprise me if Damon was the guy with whom Katherine cheated on Stefan with.

"Why did I have to fall for him? Out of all the guys in Mystic Falls, I have to fall for an emotionless maniac," she takes the spoon into her hands and tries to fish out several marshmallows at the same time. "I have fallen in love with an actual hellhound."

"In love?" I ask, mortified by that statement. I knew she likes him. I have even made peace, to some extant, with the fact that she has feelings for him. But love? Damon Salvatore is not someone you fall in love with.

She frowns. "Do not judge," she warns me.

"Oh, I was not. I am just surprised.." I do not try to defend myself, because there is nothing to defend myself from. I would never judge anyone based on their emotions, especially not my best friend.

"Why?"

"I do not know," I shrug. "He does not seem your type. Well, to me, he does not seem like anyone's type." Except maybe Katherine's, but that seems too cruel to say at the moment.

"I remember the times when Stefan did not seem like your type, either."

I nod, acknowledging her victory. "True."

She places her nose right above the cup, inhaling the sweet chocolaty scent. "We both fell for guys we never even thought about as possible choices. I guess the only difference is that you got the good brother."

I do not know what to say to that statement other than to agree with it, and that is not something she needs to hear right now.

"Anyway, enough about me," she raises her head, her expression suddenly changed. "I am going to blow my mind if I keep thinking about the black hole that is Damon's heart. How was your day?"

I am not going to push her to talk about it if she does not want to, that is for sure. "Fine. Nothing special. I came over to Stefan's so we can fill our college applications together."

"Mhm, fill your college applications. Come on, Elena," she rolls so eyes, "Do you think I am an idiot?"

I look at her as innocently as possible. Has she heard something? I mean, we were just kissing, we were not even that loud.

"You come out of the room dressed in his shirt, he follows you shirtless.. it is not really hard to put two and two together."

"I got wet," I try to defend myself, and the situation in which she had caught us in.

She grins, her eyebrows dancing on her forehead. "I bet you did."

"Bonnie!" I exclaim her name, scolding her, horrified by that statement. "From the rain. My clothes got wet because it rained, and that is why I was wearing his shirt."

"He gave you the shirt he was already wearing?" she inquiries.

"No," I reply as simple as possible because I do not want to dig myself into his conversation any further.

"Then why was he shirtless?" she raises her eyebrow at me, and I cannot think of a good enough lie in such a short period of time. "Okay, okay, you do not have to tell me," she turns her palms to me, distancing herself from the conversation.

"Nothing happened. We were just making out, things got heated, and then - "

"And then you heard me. Oh my god, Elena," she covers her face with the palms of her hands, "I am so, so sorry for ruining your moment."

"Bonnie, you are not to blame. It is not like I was planning to do it today."

"But if I have not interrupted you, would you do it?"

"I do not know. Maybe." I reply honestly. At that point, I was ready to go all the way through it, but who knows what would have happened or what incredibly stupid thoughts my brain would produce to put me off.

"Honestly, I am surprised you guys have waited this long. Are you not curious?"

"I am," I admit. "But I feel that curiosity is the wrong reason to do it."

"Where were you when I gave my virginity to Mark Willson?"

 _Gave my virginity_ always sounded strange to me. Virginity is a made up concept, you cannot give it to someone. It is not something guys should have the ability to hold over you.

"Probably learning fractions."

She gives me a fake offended look. "Rude!"

I smile at that. "Plus, I have never had sex, so waiting is not a problem for me. I have no idea what to expect."

"It is not you I am surprised about. It is him. He must love you very much."

"Yes, he does."

And that I can say with absolute certainty.

* * *

It is Damon's birthday. I did not know Satan himself actually celebrates his birthday, but whatever. Stefan invited me over because.. well, I do not really know why. It is not like Damon and me are the best of buds. Bonnie was not invited. Katherine was. I think that says enough.

I spend most of my time talking to Lexi, the only nice person among Stefan's friends. Well, I do not really know all that much about Mikaelson siblings, but they live under the same roof with Rebekah and that kinda frightens me. I know nothing about their relationship with their sister, and I am afraid of saying something I am not supposed to.

Lexi tells me what college is really like. Stefan frowns at the certain parts, and so do I. I tell her that he is applying as well. She seems surprised, but beyond happy. I do not know how she started hanging out with the rest of the group in the first place, because she is nothing like them. Looking at the four of them on the other side of the room, hunched together like crows, they look like spoiled, privileged brats from the movies who waste their days complaining about most irrelevant things in life.

Katherine looks over every time Stefan squeezes my hand, or kisses me, making me wonder which brother does she really want. Maybe she does not want either of them. Katherine seems like a person who likes to chase things while they are running from her, but once she catches up it is game over for her.

Lexi brings out the cake. Finally, something to make thing whole thing worthwhile. And it is chocolate! But as soon as she puts it down, Katherine puts her long, slender finger on the cake and basically takes off one layer of the cake with her finger. She looks at Damon, catching his eyes, before putting her fingers inside of her mouth. "Mmm, tasty," she says seductively, and he smirks.

I cannot help it but roll my eyes so hard that they basically hit the back of my head.

Unfortunately, she notices that and looks at me sternly, her expression suddenly void of any emotion. "Elena," she says my name like she is scolding me. "Do you have something to say to me?"

"No," I say as politely as possible.

"You know," she says with a silky sweet tone of voice, kind of tone every villain uses before saying something awfully rude and demeaning. "You should not judge people for having sex, at least not until you try it yourself."

I freeze in place. How does she know?

"Poor Stefan.." she looks at him with pity. "I have my flaws, but at least I was generous in that department."

Damon bumps his knee against hers under the table. She jerks, surprised by his action.

"That would be enough, Katherine," Stefan says sternly.

My mind is full of questions, and all of them are clawing for their way out. I clench my fingers into a fist, ready to rocket myself out of that room. "You should not judge people for having a brain," I stand up, trying to sweep my shame and sell it under rage, "At least not until you get one for yourself."

I walk out of the living room, heading towards the kitchen. As soon as I leave the room, I can hear Lexi's defensive voice, "You can be a real bitch, Katherine."

I pour myself a glass of water. I am ashamed that she is aware of my personal life. Of my personal choices. Did Stefan tell her? I refuse to believe that. I refuse to believe he would give her a weapon to use against me. But then again, who else would have told her?

I hear footsteps behind me, and I pray that it is not Stefan.

A string of flat, blonde hair touches my arm. Lexi.

"Hey," she moves next to me. "Are you okay?" she asks carefully.

"Yeah, yeah," I try to swallow my shame and doubt I have in one person I should trust completely. "I am fine."

I do not have to look at her to know that she does not trust me. "Katherine does not have a filter."

"No shit," I huff. She laughs under her breath. "I just cannot believe Stefan would tell her."

She ejects a massive cloud of air out of her lungs. "You are kidding me, right? Of course Stefan did not tell her. They are barely talking. It was probably Damon."

I turn my head to her, giving her a clear _'and how does Damon know?'_ look.

"Boys talk too, Elena," she smiles, like she is exposing some well kept secret to me. "And he is a teenage boy, not a saint."

I bow my head down. Sometimes I forget he is a teenage boy who does what every other teenage boy does simply because he is not like the most of them in every other aspect that matters. And, I admit, sometimes I expect too much out of him, so every disappointment is therefor that much bigger, and heavier.

"I know," I nod. "Do you agree with Katherine, though? Do you think I am only torturing him by not having sex with him?" I look at her from the corner of my eye, taking notes of her reaction.

She pulls her lips into a straight line. "I think you have you reasons, and Stefan obviously understands those reasons, and that is the only thing that matters." She gives me a supportive smile, so I smile back thankfully.

A knock on the kitchen door makes me jump in place. "Sorry for interrupting," I recognize his voice, but I do not turn around to face him.

"No worries, kiddo. I was just about to leave," Lexi starts towards the door, and a part of me wishes she would not leave me alone with him.

But she does, and she takes all the air out of the room with her.

"Hey," he says softly.

I turn around, and the way he holds himself surprises me. He is ashamed as well. He regrets telling a secret that was not his to tell, because it is more mine than ours.

"I am so sorry for what had happened back there. I did not think Damon would tell anyone. Hell," he huffs, "I did not even know that they talk that much."

"It is okay," I say, because it is not his fault. I cannot blame him for sharing a story I have shared myself with other people as well.

"I am sorry if she made you feel ashamed. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

"I know that," I say firmly. I am not ashamed of being a virgin. No one should be ashamed of that. So I have not found someone I trust enough, or love enough, to have sex with until now. Big deal. "I am not ashamed. I am more angry that she thinks that this is something she can tear me down with."

He nods, even though I am not hundred percent sure he gets what I am trying to say.

"I have overheard your conversation with Lexi. You are not torturing me, just so you know," he glues his look to the floor. "I mean, of course I want to be with you in that way, but there are so many more aspects of you that I enjoy just the same, if not more."

Those words set my cheeks on fire, but he does not stop there.

"I guess what I am trying to say is that I want to have sex with you, but I do not necessarily need to. And I do not want to have sex with you as long as you think that it is something you need to give to me in order to make me happy or something. It is not your obligation. And I know that you know that, but I feel like it needed to be said."

"Okay," I exhale, repeating that word several time. _Okay, okay, okay.._

"Oh," I add, "I forgot to tell you. My family will be out of town this weekend, so I will be all alone in the house. You could come over.." I start, and he raises his look to level it with mine. "I am not inviting you for sex. I mean, I am not excluding it, but I am primarily inviting you so we can be alone together." Truly alone, without his brother creeping around.

His lips decorate his entire face with a soft smile. "Okay."


	24. Chapter 24

"Where are your parents, again?" he peers into my brothers room just as I'm about to get on all fours to look under the bed in a pursuit of take out menus. My parents are generally against keeping them in the house because _a)_ mom takes offense when we say we want to eat food someone else made and, _b)_ we own a restaurant which means that every other place in town that serves food should be treated as competition. Jeremy, being the rebel he is, keeps the menus hidden in his room and regularly orders pizza from Nino's without our parents knowing which is, with mom almost always home, quite a challenge.

Finding anything in the mess that is his room is quite a challenge as well. How can he live like this?

"Michigan," I groan. I start exploring the space under his bed by tapping my palm against it, but the only thing I can find under there is a handful of dust. I frown, disgusted by the look of my hand. I wipe the contents on my palm off on a small round carpet next to his bed. "Mom's friend from high school is getting married, so they are at a big, fancy wedding, eating shrimp or whatever," I explain.

"And you convinced them not to go with them how exactly?" he asks curiously, knowing very well that they are the kind of parents who like to have their kids under control. Especially their teenage daughter who is not wild by nature, but has a serious boyfriend who they know will most likely move in before they even cross the town border. They can't possibly be very keen on that idea.

"I went to her first two weddings," I grin. "Plus, I might have made up some exams and exaggerated the amount of college applications I have yet to fill out, and my education _is_ their priority." Unfortunately, Jeremy was not so lucky. No excuse of his passed as good enough.

Honestly, I can't stand my mom's friends and their same old questions. _Do you have a boyfriend? Is it serious? Are we talking marriage here? You don't want to wait too long, it's easier to catch them while you are still young and desirable._ God forbid I have passions and dreams other than finding a man to marry. If I dismissed their questions or marked them silly, my mother would probably pray the earth swallows her alive. I would have to be polite, and agreeable, and answer each and every of their questions according to their wishes, even if it's a lie. I'm not a big fan of lying, so it's better I don't encounter them.

I circle around the room until I catch a glimpse of Nino's logo under a stack of comic books on the nightstand. "Aha!" I exclaim victoriously, skipping across the room. I lift a pile of comic books and discover at least ten take out menus underneath them. I pick them up, instantly discarding the ones I don't like as I go through them.

"What are you doing?" he steps closer to see what I spent so much energy into looking for.

"Making us dinner, of course."

"How about I make us dinner that does not come out of a box?" he suggests.

I shift my attention from the leaflets in my hands to him. "No way," I shake my head, as tempting as his suggestion is. "No one meddles with my mothers kitchen. She will know something is out of place if we go in there. Plus, she knows I can't cook, so if she as much as senses that something is wrong, she will never trust me again."

He smiles at me. "You know, you are so cute when you are worried," he lifts his hand and places it against my cheek, caressing my skin with his thumb. "Okay, let's order something."

* * *

"This is.." he starts, looking into the old wooden trunk in my bedroom. "This is a lot of diaries. One person wrote all of this?"

"Oh, no," I say while trying to crush Nino's pizza box. I must get rid of all the evidence of this unlawful event. "They go back generations. There's even one in French," I furrow my brows, "It took me a while to translate that one."

"You keep one as well, don't you?"

I swallow. "Yes," I nod. Aunt Helen gave me one which now seems like a very cruel joke. Like it is a family tradition she wanted me to carry on. "I haven't written in it for quite some time, though," I don't want my life to turn into a clue. I don't want to disappear without a trace. And I don't want to create anymore material for my brother to have to pass along to some other unfortunate person who's trying to solve a mystery no one even bothered to start cracking.

"And the dreams?"

I shrug. "Here and there. They're not as detailed as they used to be, but more like quick flashbacks to certain events in someones life. I think they served their purpose."

"Which was?"

I'm slowly getting tired of this made up interrogation, so I exhale tiredly. "They got me interested. How about you? Any dreams lately?" I turn the tables on him.

"Kinda," he admits. "All I can see is.." he frowns at the poor choice of his words. "Well, I can't really see anything other than darkness. But I can feel myself in that darkness, cold and afraid and shivering." My dreams, no matter how violent they were towards my mind and body in the beginning, are sweet, and peaceful, and happy. His are frightening. Mine are about other people, but his are about him. "And there's a voice, a voice that sounds quite familiar, yet I can't really place it in the context. A voice whispering things like _you don't belong here, this is not your home, this is not your life, this is not your body, your purpose is far greater than this_."

I remember his words when I first came to him with this topic, I remember how he insisted that none of this is real, that we're living a life that doesn't belong to us. He must have been still experiencing the effects the dream had on him.

"Have you read all of these?" he picks up a diary from the top of the pile inside the trunk, studying it like it's some foreign object.

"More or less," I watch him closely, concentrating on the diary in his hands, feeling protective over the only piece of evidence in my possession.

"And what do you make of them?"

"Well, I did make several connections," I jump cheerfully. "This, whatever it is, jumps a generation. Every second generation is affected by this. No one from my parents generation recorded any of this, but aunt Helen's sister did, and so did their grandmothers sister. And now me. I don't know if it stays in the family. It would seem so from the diary entries I've read, but the records in the town hall go only so far.." I bite my lip, remembering how angry I was when I saw how short our family records are.

He cocks his eyebrow at me, amused. "You went to the town hall?"

"Yes," I say firmly, "I was intrigued, to say at least."

"Mhm," he hums. "Anything else?"

"Not really," I shrug, feeling down because of the little amount of information I have. "Well, maybe it's nothing, but a lot of women couldn't have children."

"Medically proven, or had a hard time conceiving?"

"Well, medicine wasn't that far ahead in their time, but yes, they had a hard time conceiving. And in rare situations they did stay with child, they couldn't carry the pregnancy out term."

He nods, signaling that he understands what I'm trying to tell him. "And that bothers you?"

I look at him quizzically. Maybe he doesn't really understand what I'm trying to tell him.

"I mean, does that scare you?" he corrects himself. Maybe he does understand after all.

"Yes," I admit. He has become a person I can admit everything to, even the things I'm too afraid to admit to myself. He's the key to my deepest, darkest secrets. "These days, the thing women are afraid of the most is becoming just another statistic. Just one more girl raped at a party, just one more girl killed by her drunk boyfriend.. I don't want to be just one more diary entry. I don't know if I want to have kids, but I want to have a choice in the matter once the time comes to make that decision."

He doesn't say anything, he just keeps staring at me, his eyes wide. What is a 18 year old boy supposed to say to his girlfriend when she says something like that? There's no proper response to anyone's fear of what they believe is supernatural presence in their life. He doesn't say anything, but he does crawl closer to me, taking my hands into his.

He puts his fingers around mine and lifts our joined hands to his mouth, kissing my knuckles. "I promise you that you'll never be just another statistic."

"You promise?" I smile.

"I promise," he smiles back.

I know that's a promise he can't keep, but I love him for believing he can.

I lean into him, pressing my lips against his. I can taste the pizza flour on his mouth. He lets go of my hands and places his palms on my knees. We're sitting across from each other, our legs crossed, his hands on my knees, mine cupping his jaw. I wish there was someone in the room with us to take a picture, to make this moment everlasting, endless, frozen in the vastness of forever.

I pull my lips away from his in order to catch my breath.

"What do you say we go through the rest of the diaries together?" he asks.

"I would like that," I respond.

* * *

 **Place: The Solitary Isle**  
 **Time: Unknown**

 _I'm laying on top of him, my body sprawled over the length of his, my toes barely reaching his knees. I'm playing with the tip of his white, feathery wing that is peeping over his shoulder._

 _"I've always wanted wings," I say._

 _His arms go around me, his long, warrior fingers pressing into the small of my back._

 _"They're often a burden," he exhales._

 _"Not for my people. We're not warriors."_

 _Some tales, though, say that we used to be mighty fine warriors. We didn't believe in weapons, we would attack and defend with the power of our minds, and we would do it gracefully. Now, we're mostly farmers._

 _"I wasn't aware your people had wings," he says dubiously._

 _"Some do," I move my head over his chest, placing my chin in the middle. "They say it's a family thing. Males are usually the ones who are lucky enough to end up growing them, though," I roll my eyes._

 _I can say such things in front of him without the fear of being judged, or scolded. Their women are warriors, strong, powerful, beautiful, graceful. Equal to their male counterparts in every sense of the word, often conquering them on the battlefield. They can choose to be something other than warriors, of course, but they rarely do. We have always been a bit more traditional, even in the stories of our warrior days. Women were in charge of the teaching, acquiring proper herbs, preparing medicine and raising children, while every male, no matter how sickly, who had sprouted wings could join the army._

 _"Growing them?" he asks, confused by my words._

 _"Yes, they appear by the time we reach our second premature period. If they don't appear by then, they most likely never will," I explain._

 _"Huh," he exhales, obviously surprised by what I've told him. "We are born with them. The concept of growing them seems weird."_

 _We know everything about their people because they're important. They know nothing about ours because no one would miss us if we suddenly disappeared._

 _"Are you going to miss them?" I squeeze the edge of his wing between my fingertips, the feather silky on my skin._

 _There's a blank expression on his face. "If everything goes as planned, I won't even remember having them."_

 _"You won't remember any of this," I say, testing him. If everything goes as planned, we'll go.. somewhere. Be someone else. It's questionable if we'll even remember each other. "You sure you want to go through with it?"_

 _He looks down at me, a frown visible on the bridge of his nose. "Why are you acting as if I'm the only one who has something to lose?"_

 _I pull my lips into a straight, thin line. "Because you stand to lose more than I do."_

 _I am leaving only two people behind. He's leaving an entire kingdom._

 _"They can get by without me," he responds firmly, "But I can't get by without you."_

As those words leave his mouth, something pulls me out of my dream. I've been sleeping firmly, but this bone crushing anguish makes me jump from the comfortable position I've been lying in.

Someones hands appear on my arms, steadying me, as I look wildly around the room. _Stefan_ , I remember. He's already awake, and fully aware of his surroundings while I'm still feeling a little lost and dizzy.

"Elena," he says my name gently, trying to reach out to me. "You okay?"

"Did you see that?" I shoot him a look, grabbing for him the same way he had grabbed for me, holding on to him for safety. Like something is going to drag me away if I let go.

Judging by the look on his face, he knows exactly what I'm talking about. "Yes," he swallows the word, making it barely audible.

"That wing," I whisper, the words burn in my throat as I push them out of it, like they're unholy. "I've seen it before."

His eyes widen. "Where?"

"In front of my window."

* * *

We fell asleep while going through the diaries I didn't have time to go through by myself. The last thing I remember is Amanda's eleventh diary entry from 15th century Scotland.

We fell asleep and had the same dream, from word to word, from detail to detail. Such thing is impossible, scientifically proven, even though I'm not sure we can apply science to whatever's happening to us. Maybe we were sleeping, but what we saw during that time felt more like a memory than a dream.

We couldn't go back to sleep, so we stayed awake until the morning, trying to remember every single detail, put the pieces into a puzzle, came up with crazy theories that somehow managed to make sense. When the sun rose up, we got ready and headed to The Grill for breakfast. Stefan insisted on making us breakfast at home, but just like last night, I wouldn't let him anywhere near my mothers kitchen.

We walk in five minutes after they've opened the place, so it's still deserted. Some rattle can be heard from the kitchen, but Daisy's presence is the only one we can actually see. She's painting her nails by the bar - when we come in, she raises her eyes to meet us, and her expression shifts from surprise to delight in a matter of seconds. I wave to her, politely, and she waves back to me, excitedly.

We take our usual corner booth, but before either of us manages to start a conversation, Daisy appears by our side.

"Elena!" she exclaims my name delightedly, a bit too loud for this early in the morning. "Did my book recommendations help you with your paper?" she cocks her head to the side, patiently waiting for my answer.

"Yes, thank you," I nod cautiously, noticing Stefan's curious expression from the corner of my eye. I ran into Daisy while I was in the library about a month ago. She recommended me this book, _Hidden Dimensions_ , since apparently she studies the occult and knows all the good literature. "I do have a question, though. Is it possible to move from one dimension to another?"

She smiles wickedly, like she enjoys this thoroughly. "Well, it's a touchy subject. Some people are completely against the idea, because like I told you, we are not just talking about different timelines here. We are talking about completely different worlds. Some people, though, believe it's possible. Hard, but possible."

"What exactly would one need to pass from one dimension to another?"

"Something magical," her eyes light up with wonder and excitement. "Something inhumane."

Okay, she's completely wacko. All that study of occult probably messed up with her brain.

"I will write down some more books for you to read on the matter, if you'd like," she offers.

Before I'm able to decide should I take her up on her offer, or decline it, the front doors fly wide open. Someone on their way to work probably stopping by for a cup of coffee, I think, but Daisy looks towards the door instantly. I guess someone coming in here so early is not as common as I thought, so I look up towards the door as well, intrigued by her fast reaction.

And when my eyes fall on two well known figures, I gasp. After I do, Stefan turns around to see what made me react in such a way.

Damon and, standing by his side, Bonnie.

At first, they don't see us, they only notice Daisy standing by the table with a notepad in her hands. Damon frowns, but Bonnie looks at her gently. Do they know each other? Do they know Daisy as anyone other than the waitress from The Grill.

When Bonnie notices me sitting at our usual booth, her face becomes stone cold. What is she doing with Damon? After everything he did, after how he treated her.

Stefan turns back with a confused expression on his face as well. He's either surprised by Bonnie stooping so low, or by his brothers behavior.

I give her an _is-everything-okay_ look, and she nods after she gets the message. They move towards the table on the other side of the restaurant.

"Anyway," Daisy says in a fake cheerful voice, "What can I get you?"


	25. Chapter 25

**April 5th, 2016**

 _Dear Diary,_

 _ever since the morning Stefan and I have seen Damon and Bonnie walk into The Grill together, shoulder by shoulder, she has been avoiding me. At first, I was confused to see them together because of everything that has happened between them only days prior, but after several minutes in a state of confusion a fit of rage found a home inside my rib cage at the same time an ugly thought popped into my mind - she forgave him and went back to him. When I confronted her about it, she just frowned and said that she would never in million years go back to him after what he did to her, but that she did want to hear an apology he had promised to give her when he called her the night before. An apology from Damon? It seemed highly unlikely, so I asked Stefan - with a pang of guilt for doubting my friend - to check out Bonnie's story with his brother. Damon confirmed it, from word to word, which only made it sound fake. Rehearsed. But why? What do they have to gain from lying about the purpose of their meeting? What are they up to? I hate not knowing, and I hate being lied to, which is very ironic since at the moment I'm lying to almost everyone I know. Well, I'm not exactly lying to anyone, I'm simply hiding the truth from them. I would be lying if someone asked me if I'm having supernatural dreams about what I believe are my past lives and I said no, and since no one asked me that question me keeping my mouth shut about it happening doesn't exactly qualify as lying._

 _When I recalled the memory of that event, I had also remembered this other feeling I had at the time. Like everything is out of place. The way Daisy looked at them when they came in, like she knows them, even though she claims she doesn't. The way Damon and Bonnie stood next to each other, like they are on some kind of a mission, like they have some hidden purpose. They also seemed comfortable standing next to one another, as if they know each other more privately than two people who are just sleeping together should. I had glanced towards her several times during the morning only to catch a hard look on her face, like she's discussing strategic plans with him, not listening to him apologize for the way he had treated her. And when she would see me looking at her, she would give me this half warm, half apologetic smile as if was trying to convince me that everything is okay, that she's sorry and that she will explain everything later. She never did, except from that one sentence I had to basically pull out of her in the school hallway. That morning, from the dream Stefan and me shared to the way the planet was spinning, nothing really seemed right._

"What are you doing?" Daisy's head appears on my shoulder, her eyes peering directly into the notebook in my hands. She sings those words with a curious tone of voice and a matching look in her eyes.

"Nothing," I say, closing my diary with speed almost inhumane, my voice so brazen my mom's cheeks would blush in shame if she could hear me. Maybe writing something private in public wasn't the best idea I ever had, but I didn't really expect anyone creeping up on me in a deserted family restaurant at 10 p.m. "Just writing down things left on my to do list, things I would like to do before I graduate," I force my lips to curve into a smile so she doesn't get the impression that I'm hiding something from her.

Despite my best efforts she doesn't look like she believes me, but she doesn't say anything either. "Oh, graduation, how exciting! Have you sent your college applications in yet?" she sits on the stool next to me, her feet barely reaching the floor.

"Mhm," I nod. I've sent them in a week ago, and while I'm awaiting my acceptance letters they're a topic I'm desperately trying to avoid. Unsuccessfully, but still trying.

"Will I be seeing you at Whitmore?" she tilts her head.

"Definitely not." With some luck, she won't be seeing me at all.

"Hmm, too bad, too bad," she whistles wistfully. She's looking directly at me, but her mind is clearly somewhere else. "Anyway, I wanted to give you this," she puts her fingers into a tiny pocket of her apron and pulls a folded piece of paper out of it. "A list of books I've promised you. You can check them all out in the public library."

I pick the paper up and unfold it, my eyes running over the tittles she has given me. They sound like they shouldn't be available for everyone to check out at the public library. They sound sinful.

"Thanks," I mutter, disposing the paper between the cover and the first page of my diary. Like they're a secret I'm trying to keep from everyone, including myself. "Daisy, I know I've asked you this before, but are you sure you don't know Damon Salvatore?"

She pulls her eyebrows closer together, lines thin like paper cuts creasing her forehead. "Pretty sure," she says. "Well, I do remember seeing him on campus every now and then when I was a freshman."

"Oh," I release a barely audible sound. That still doesn't explain the look she gave him the other day, or the look he gave her in return. Maybe I've imagined it, maybe she was annoyed she has to serve two tables so early in the morning. Maybe he was extra grumpy. "Okay."

"I did hear things about him, though," she scoots closer to me, her eyes wide with hope I can confirm the rumors she has heard about him.

"What things?" I barely contain my voice from sounding curious.

"About his family. About why he is the way he is," she shrugs, like what she knows is a well known fact, so I shouldn't be surprised upon hearing it. "You know, their kind never did - "

"Their kind?" I interrupt her, my voice hoarse. What does she mean by that? Is she insulting his origins? Does she think it's okay to judge someone based on their unfortunate family situation? I can feel my face getting redder and redder with every passing second. I probably wouldn't react to her words this harshly if people haven't been saying the same thing about Stefan for years now.

There's a panicked expression on her face. She knows she said something she's not supposed to say, something people don't take lightly. "What I meant is _that_ _kind_ of a guy. You know," she leans into me, whispering into my face, "a man whore."

So it's public knowledge. Then how did Bonnie fall for him? A guy with a status like that can't afford to walk around acting like prince charming. Even if he could, Bonnie is smarter than to fall for that act.

She looks over my shoulder, pulling her lips into a thin, straight line. "I think your friend is here," she points towards the door.

I turn around, my eyes locking with Caroline's wide smile and her hand in the air, waving at me.

* * *

"You smell like fries," Caroline wrinkles her nose, like she's bothered by the scent, but she very well knows I can see her inhaling it from the corner of my eye. Feeding on it like a drug addict hungry for another shot. "And you're making my Toyota smell like fries. Now every time I get in the car, I'll crave fries. Oh God," she cries out dramatically, "I crave fries now." She could be an actress, I've been saying this for as long as I know her. An actress in one of those Spanish soap operas. She would nail those roles without having to break a sweat.

I unclutch my bag with a smile on my face, pulling out a box of fries out of its depth. I packed them for myself, but she obviously needs them more. She looks into my lap like she's been expecting to see them there, licking her lips with the tip of her tongue. When we come across a red light her greedy, slender fingers reach for the box, like she hasn't eaten for days. She opens it, takes a fistful of still warm fries and shoves them into her mouth.

"Mmm," she murmurs, her mouth too full, "Thank you, thank you, thank you." I watch her in bewilderment as she swallows the fries, grains of salt stuck on her lips.

I raise my eyebrow at her, titling my head to the side. "Did something happen?" I ask sarcastically.

The thing about Caroline is, she's a stress eater. For the most of the year she eats clean, knows kale smoothie recipes by memory like a priest knows Bible verses, brings her lunch from home because she refuses to eat processed cafeteria food, gets up at 6 a.m. for a morning jog and for every dress she owns, she owns one sport top too. Not so much because she enjoys being healthy, but because she's preparing for periods like this, when her brain stops functioning and the only thing her body craves for are twinkies. She's like a bear preparing for the winter, knowing her body will demand insane amounts of sugar once the stressful times come.

She steps on the gas with the first sign of green light.

"What, can't a girl pick up her friend from work from the goodness of her heart?" she smirks, aware of her crazy behavior.

"A girl can," I reach for a box jumping in her lap before the fries spill all over the car. "But we all know what it means when a girl stuffs herself on carbs. Spill."

She's still smirking with her eyes straight on the road. "Okay, I'm going to give you a treasure map. Not a real map, a proverbial map. On the back seat of my car, there's an envelope," she explains with a serious expression on her face.

I turn my head, and the upper part of my body, to look behind. There indeed is a white envelope, right in the middle of the back seat.

"Take it," she whispers. "But carefully. It's a treasure map, remember?" she lets out a hysterical laugh before forcing her lips shut.

I reach for the envelope, and when I see what it says on the front, I gasp. _Rhode Island Institute of Design_.

"Care, is this your acceptance letter?" I look at her.

"I don't know if it's an acceptance letter, or a rejection letter." She pulls her lips into a tight, straight line.

I turn the envelope around, little white triangle still glued to the square white surface. "You didn't open it?"

"I didn't know how," she swallows. "I didn't know what I would do if it says no."

She starts slowing down, and I notice that we have already reached my house.

"Can you open it?" she asks hoarsely. "Please?"

Caroline never had to face rejection. Everything she ever wanted, she received. She was grateful for everything she got, but she never had to live in fear of not getting it. Yet, this is something that's out of her control. If they say no, she can't use her tears, or flutter her long lashes at them until they change their minds.

"Sure," I say.

As soon as I make the first tear, she closes her eyes. The envelope is light and heavy at the same time. Light, only one paper hiding inside of it. Heavy, her entire future written on it. I pull the paper out, unfold it, and I start reading. I only need to read the first sentence to find out will she scream, or will she cry, which is when I realize what a hard task I've said yes to when she asked me to open it for her. From this moment on, in her mind, I will forever be a bearer of either good, or bad news.

"You know," I say calmly, "My mom always said I have a very smooth name. It goes well with everything." She opens her eyes and gives me a confused look. She opens her mouth to speak, clearly annoyed by my interference, but I cut her off. "So, if you don't name at least one dress after me, I'll be pissed."

She blinks once, twice, three times before she realizes what I'm saying. "I - I got in?" she asks, like she doesn't believe it herself, like she never thought it possible.

"They are very pleased to inform you they can't wait for you to join them next semester at _RISD_ , Ms. Forbes."

She blinks several times more before her eyes fill with tears and her becomes throat raspy from all the sharp, barely successful inhales.

"Care, no, this is good, isn't it? You got in!" I unbuckle my seat belt and reach for her.

"Yes, yes, yes!" she exclaims as soon as my palms fall on her shoulders. "Yes, it's a good thing. I was just so afraid I wouldn't get in, you know? This was my only real option, everything else was a back up that didn't really feel as a back up. I'm not like you, I don't have multiple things to choose from. This is kinda the only thing I'm good at."

"Don't say that," I frown, partly scolding her, something friends can do only in most extraordinary of situations. "You are good at so many things. And you are so talented, you could make magic out of nothing."

"Well," she wipes her tears with the back of her hand, "I guess now I'll have a chance to make magic out of something."

* * *

"Elena." Mom calls my name from the kitchen when she hears me coming in. The fact that she's awake surprises me, by this time she's usually either lost in a good book or asleep. I walk into the kitchen with a half smile, still under the influence of Caroline's reaction to her acceptance letter. "I expected you home half an hour ago. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," I lean against the door frame. "I was with Caroline. She just found out that she got accepted into Rhode Island Institute of Design."

"Oh!" she smiles, beaming at the news. "That's wonderful, I'm so happy for her!"

She has always loved Caroline, despite their polar personalities. Where she was calm, Caroline was dramatic. Where she was neat, Caroline was a mess. Where she was collected, Caroline was emotional.

"Me too."

"Did you eat?" she asks. I'll miss hearing that once I leave for college. No matter where you are, who are you with, or what time it is, my mother will always ask you did you eat. And if you make the face I'm making right now at the mention of food, she will offer you some. "That face means you haven't," she scolds me with her look in a way only a mother can. "There's some leftover lasagna if you want."

"Uh," I moan at the taste of lasagna in my mouth. "Yes, please."

"I'll warm them up for you." She has opened the fridge even before I accepted the food. I sit down by the island as she pushes the plate with two large pieces of lasagna into a microwave.

"Were you waiting for me?"

"No. I couldn't sleep, so I thought a glass of milk would do me good." I look at the half full glass of milk on the other side of the island.

The microwave stops buzzing so she takes the plate out of it, and places it in front of me alongside the cutlery.

"How come Caroline got her acceptance letter before you did?" she sits on the stool across from me.

"She sent her applications way before me," I reply. Caroline knew what she wants out of life, and she knew it since 5th grade. "Plus, different schools have different deadlines."

"How about Stefan?" she asks with a strain in her voice.

"He has applied for several Art schools." Thankfully, those schools value talent more than they do SAT scores or a GPA. Some don't even require SAT's.

"Art schools?" she doesn't even try to hide her surprise.

"Yeah, mom, he draws," I smile. And he's really good. He's so freaking talented, and every school would be lucky to have him. "He can't go if he doesn't receive financial aid, though."

She doesn't say anything to that. What's there to say? I'm sorry your boyfriends father is a drunk who ruined his life?

"For some time there I was afraid you wouldn't go," she admits, ashamed of the words that are coming out of her mouth. Ashamed of her ability to think them, and produce them, and share them with me.

"To college?" Not going to college was never a possibility for me. I don't know what would have had to happen for me not to go to college. I simply needed a bit more time to figure out what I want to do and where I want to go. "Why did you think that?"

She swallows, afraid the words she's about to say will make me angry. "Because of him. Because of Stefan."

I don't say anything to that. I can hear her rapid breathing, she's afraid I've gotten so angry that I won't even speak to her. So I stay silent until I swallow the last piece of lasagna I was planning to eat. "Mom, do you know what people are saying about Stefan?" I ask.

She nods. "Yes. Yes I do."

You see, the main problem is that the kids didn't make up all that stuff about him all by themselves. The adults started doing it first. Bored housewives who have nothing better to do than to sit for hours at home, coming up with all the stories and theories until they don't know what's the truth and what happened inside their heads anymore. They think about his father, a drunk lowlife, then they ask themselves how his kids are going to turn out, left alone to their own devices. And then they whisper those stories while shopping, or drinking coffee, or knitting. They talk about them in front of their offspring because they think they're not interested in adult rumors. And then, before you know it, those kids grow up and start talking to each other about what their parents said, and soon enough all those stories mash together into a pile of made up shit which is also, accidentally, a pretty powerful weapon to use against someone who can't defend themselves because then they would have to admit that some of those things actually are true.

"So do I. I've been listening to those rumors since before I could connect a face to a name. I've been listening to you and your friends talk about his poor mother, and useless father, and I've heard you saying how nothing good can come out of those kids."

"Elena, I - " she starts, feeling guilty, because she very well knows that some of those words did come out of her mouth. And to some of them she silently nodded.

"Please, let me finish. I'm not accusing you of anything, but I want you to understand something, okay?"

She nods, agreeing to my terms.

"Honestly, everything you said can't even compare to the cruelty of what the kids were saying. Among each other, to him." I sink my teeth into my lower lip. _To him_. "Imagine every word you said, every story you shared with your friends as a possible truth, running wild fueled by a child's imagination. Some stories were silly, but some of them were painful, and cruel. Like that one time in 7th grade when they cornered him on the school's playground and kept asking him did he kill his mother."

She winches, and her eyes go wide with.. with everything. Pain, disgust, pity. She never knew. Parents rarely know anything about their children's cruelty.

"They started bullying him from the moment he stepped his foot into that school, and they haven't stopped - " _Until he started dating me_ , I think. I stretch my lips until all it's left of them is a paper thin line on my face. "Well, they haven't stopped for a very, very long time. I never made a rumor about him, but I knew people who did." I won't name them, because then I would have to put Caroline's name on the top of the list. "I ate lunch with them, and sat at parties as they made up gruesome stories about him. I knew none of what they're saying is the truth, and so did they, but I didn't say anything. No one said anything because everyone knew that as long as the tribe has a victim, one person to torture and sacrifice to their rage, then the rest of us are safe. We can go and keep our secrets, we can even safely share them among friends, no one will steal them and use them against us. As long as there's balance, as long as there's one person willing to be whipped day after day, we can flaunt our embarrassments and no one will blink an eye. Do you know how many rumors I could have stopped from being made? How many nicknames? Every time I would see him in school, I would either think _I'm so sorry_ or _please don't come to school tomorrow_ , but I did nothing. And every time I see him now, I remember all of that cruelty I've helped create by keeping my mouth shut. I owe him so many smiles. I could spend a lifetime making him smile, and I would still be in his debt.  
When I saw him in Summer camp, I was so afraid that someone will find out, that someone will connect me to him, that he will trap me into his newly invented circle of hell with him. And as I remember those feelings, I'm not only ashamed, I'm disgusted by myself. But mostly, I'm in pain, because if I was so afraid to be seen with him, then imagine how afraid he was to be him."

She has her elbows pinned against the hard wooden surface. Her hands are shaking, and she's blinking away tears. For him, or for me? The monster she has helped create, or the monster she has raised?

"I loved that camp, it's where I felt safe, and if he came up to me anyplace else I doubt I would ever gather enough courage to speak to him. But it was there, and I did find the strength to be kind and polite, like you raised me to be. And I spoke to him little by little, day by day. Then came the days when I was making up words to talk to him just to hear him speak. And then came the days when he started making me laugh. I always knew those rumors aren't true. They were just fragments of stories people shaped into something unrecognizable. I knew that he's a normal boy, with same thoughts and problems like the rest of them. I knew the rumors are fake, but it was still hard to think of him as anything other than a symbol of mockery. What I didn't know is how utterly wonderful he is. Smart, gentle, funny, lovable, talented, giving. If only they've allowed him to be one of them, maybe I would have found out sooner, and maybe I would have had more time to love him. When the school year started, I wanted to tell everyone that we're dating, because by then I didn't care anymore about the foolishness of others. I didn't want to live and love in secret. And for the longest time, he wouldn't let me. While everyone else were painting him as a monster, he was doing the same to them. They stole something from him, a life he could have had. And maybe that life would have made him a different person, but it was his and he was entitled to it. He wanted to protect me because he didn't trust them, people who were my friends, people among whom I've found comfort were the same people who had hurt him time over time over time until he became numb to that pain. We didn't just lead different lives, we lived in completely different worlds. And it was hard. Sometimes it was so hard that all I could think of was _I don't need this_. But we survived because, as it turns out, I not only need this, I want it."

As soon as I finish, she speaks up, tears running down her lips. "Elena, sweetie, I don't know what to say. I had no idea.."

Of course she didn't. She's not a bad person, and if she ever thought that innocent stories to kill time are causing pain to a little boy, she would end them once and for all.

"Do you know our guidance counselor told me the same thing? That she would hate to see me throwing my future for him. Stefan.. well, he has lost faith in a lot of things due to his upbringing. You know, once the kids cast you out, the teachers do too. They label you as lazy, or socially awkward, or anxious. They tell you that you're not trying hard enough, or that you refuse to fit in. And they told him that so many times that he actually started believing them. None of the teachers took interest in him - our Art teacher never recognized his talent, and our English teacher never cared to find out his opinions on our reading materials, even though he was one of the few who would always read them. It's their failure, but it's reflecting on him. Despite it, he has never tried to hold me back. I don't think anyone has asked me more times when am I planning to fill out my college applications than him. When I told him I have to study, he was always respectful of that. And let's say that there's some alternate universe in which I'm ready not to go to college to be with him, then there has to be one where he lets me do so. Because, mom, if I ever did such a thing, I wouldn't be the girl he fell in love with."

She doesn't say anything to that. She doesn't have a response ready, and she doesn't come up with one. She just continues staring at me until her eyes fill with so much water that she can't blink through them. That's when she gets up, comes over to my side, puts her arms around me and kisses me on the temple.

Over and over and over again.

* * *

 **STEFAN'S POV**

How to tell the person you love that they're a villain in all of your dreams?

I haven't been blessed with Elena's dreams. They may have left her trembling, sweaty and in tears, but they were dreams of happiness, laughter and love. I assume that made them torturous in their own way.

My dreams are always about war, destruction, and broken _I love you's_. I've probably loved her so very much to be willing to destroy the world for her. But once you do that for someone, once you give up everything that's yours to give, and some that's not, how do you not end up resenting them? Would someone who loves you back really go to such lengths as to ask you to give up so much of yourself for them?

When I fall asleep, someone starts whispering into my ear. Multiple someones. The voice is not always the same. Sometimes it's male, sometimes it's female, sometimes it's so heartbroken that it can't finish a sentence. _This isn't your body, you're so much more beautiful inhabiting your true skin. This isn't the name your mother has given you. This isn't the world you've been born into, in your world you have a place and people shudder at the sound of your name._

Elena doesn't want to hear any of this. And why should she? She has a family that loves her, friends who are always at her disposal, and a bright future ahead of her. I have none of those things, and the idea that I don't belong here sits well with me. The only thing that bothers me is this - if there's some other world, is she in it as well? Because if she's not, I'm not sure I belong there either.

I pull myself out of my bed. I don't have any plans for today. Elena is with Caroline and Bonnie, which means she won't be available until later today. I could call Lexi to see what she's up to, unless my brother occupied all of her free time.

There's some mail laying on the floor in front of the front door. I walk over and reach down to pick the pile up. Bills, bills, bills. Something addressed to me. I place the mail on the table and start tearing at the envelope. I unfold the neatly folded paper, and I start reading.

 _Dear Mr. Salvatore, we are sorry to inform you that your request for financial aid has been declined._

* * *

 ** _AN: If you have a friend willing to give up fries they have saved for themselves, keep them._**


	26. Chapter 26

"Caroline is already planning a week long party at Tyler's lake house for Senior Week," I make a dissatisfied facial expression when I realize what that actually means for me. Five days of partying, and two days to chill. Pre and post chill day, as Caroline labeled it proudly, providing everyone with enough time to get comfortable upon arrival and sober before departure. Being surrounded by drunk guys, screaming girls and loud music for a week straight seems unfathomable to me. When she presented us with the program, neither Bonnie nor me seemed very pleased, and Bonnie enjoys parties way more than I do. Caroline, on the other hand, seemed very pleased with herself.

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad," Stefan responds sarcastically, grinning from ear to ear.

I look up at him, and I can feel my eyes widening as I open my mouth to speak. "I have always wanted to take a trip during my Senior Week. You know, pack the essentials and visit all the nearby places I have always wanted to see, but never did. They're near, I thought, there's time for them, I can drop by anytime."

"So why don't we?" he asks somberly. "We don't have any obligations. School is practically over, and the only thing left for us to do is wait for our college applications to arrive." And, in his case, other results, but he makes no mention of his financial aid applications. Other than that, he does have a point - once seniors reach Senior Week, they are basically done with school. Some might have an exam here or there, few consultations, grades negotiations, but most of us are done with everything and are just waiting for the graduation ceremony for it to be official.

I don't respond to his proposal, mainly because I'm trying to find a way to agree to it and express my excitement without sounding like a complete lunatic. But, at this point, the only thing my brain is capable of is screaming.

He turns in his chair and produces a map of US of A from his top desk drawer, then proceeds to lower himself to the floor of his bedroom where he spreads and straightens it for both of us to see. "I'm serious," he says, as if I gave him any indication that I don't think he's being serious, leaving me confused. "We can start on Friday, see everything we want to see, and still make it in time for the last day of the party."

I love how this conversation turned from _me_ to _we_. I love how I don't have to do this alone. I wouldn't mind doing it alone, but I love that I don't have to, that he's here and that he's offering himself to me, investing his free time into something I want to do. My life turned from a single person mechanism, to a symbiosis. And I guess that's the point of this whole relationship deal. You don't get into a relationship with another person to have someone to do things with, you get into a relationship to share something you can do on your own with someone you care about.

I raise my eyebrow at him, entertained by the last part of his sentence. "You would be willing to go to a party for my sake?"

"Well, I know there's no way you would miss your best friends party. And baby," he flashes me a wide, bright smile, the kind you see people in toothpaste commercials wear. "I would go to the ends of the world for you."

I produce an inhumane sound before reaching for a pillow and throwing it at him. I miss, of course, and the pillow lands few inches away from him. "Soooo cheesy," I say, giggling and covering my face with my hands, peeking at him through my half spread fingers.

He smirks. "Okay, back to the point. We could go with my motorcycle.." He checks my expression after proposing that only to notice a visible frown on my face. As if my parents would ever let me go on a trip on the back of a motorcycle.

"Fine," he exhales. This clearly messed up some of his plans. "We can take your car. Where do you want to go?"

I lower myself on the floor next to him, and place my finger over the entire state of Virginia. "Everywhere."

* * *

My parents didn't need much convincing to let me go on this trip. They didn't exactly welcome the idea with arms wide open, but they didn't put as much resistance as I expected them to either. Maybe they mellowed down, or maybe I made some good arguments. Some of them, I admit, almost made my mom cry. Like when I said I will be gone by the end of the summer anyway so it's time for them to start getting used to not having me around, and saw panic in my dad's eyes.

Caroline was okay with me not being there for the whole week, and so was Bonnie. I like to think they realized I would be happier travelling with my boyfriend than being surrounded by beer cans for a week.

Stefan has made an extensive and well researched plan on how to include everything I want to see into on successful trip. Hampton Roads, Charlottesville gardens, themed parks in Williamsburg, rivers of Jamestown, try seafood in Newport News and, of course, see the famous Virginia Beach. Dad insisted on being advised on the plan of the trip before we set off, and he seemed very pleased with what Stefan came up with, at least judging by his head nod and the firm grip on Stefan's shoulder. He gave him few tricks and tips for the road as well. Mom made us so much food, which was to be expected, and a reason why we didn't have to spend any money on snacks. Chocolate chip cookies, pretzels, sandwiches, cheesy sticks.. you name it, it was there. She stacked boxes upon boxes of goodies on the back seat of my car while I was packing. I was really satisfied with how lightly I packed, until I pulled up on Stefan's driveway to pick him up and saw him standing in front of the house with nothing more than a medium sized sports bag which only made my medium sized suitcase look not so light.

"I'm so looking forward to this," he announces excitedly when we pass _"You're now leaving Mystic Falls"_ sign.

I chuckle. "You do know that we're going to spend a lot of time in this car, don't you? 67.8% of it, to be exact. I calculated it."

He gives me an astonished look. "First of all," he starts with a raspy voice, "Weirdo. Second of all, we are both going to spend that amount of time in the car which means that we will be together, and I'm completely fine with that."

"Oh," I groan, almost bursting into laughter, "So much cheese from you recently, Stefan."

He shakes his head, turning it towards the car window. "You love cheese, though."

"Yes," I nod, "Yes, I do."

As it turns out, the time we spent in the car and between destinations was even better than seeing everything I wanted to see, which made me realize I didn't really want a trip, I wanted an experience. Gardens in Charlottesville were more beautiful than I expected, and seafood in Newport News was one of the most delicious things I have tasted in my entire life, and this coming from someone who's not that big of a seafood fan. And as much as I've enjoyed the chance to cross several things off of my bucket list, there's nothing I've enjoyed more than us singing in the car, or him gushing over my mom's homemade treats, or watching him fall asleep while I drive into the dead of the night. Well, maybe I have enjoyed falling asleep and waking up next to him while he drives a little bit more. The plexus of rivers at Hampton Roads was memorable, but not as the smile of the old lady who served us breakfast at the diner on our way to Williamsburg when I told Stefan, with a pained expression on my face, _'please don't put so much whipped cream on your waffles, you're going to be sick'_. He didn't listen to me, and an hour later he had announced that there's something funny going on with his stomach.

My parents had to hear from us daily, and I had to send minimum of five photos per day to my friends, as a payment for not being with them for the entire duration of Senior Week.

"I can't believe we leave tomorrow," I place my mouth on his shoulder and groan into his shirt as we walk down the boardwalk of Virginia Beach, hand in hand. We have decided to say here overnight and recuperate before we head to Tyler's lake house which is only half an hour away from Mystic Falls.

"We don't have to," he squeezes my hand in his. "We can stay here and pretend the real world doesn't exist."

"Mmm," I detach my mouth from the soft material of his shirt, "That sounds nice." Impossible, but nice. I think Caroline wouldn't speak to me anymore if I missed the sight of her handy work. Or at least for a very, very long time. Also, there are, hopefully, some college acceptance letters to read and graduation ceremony to prepare for.

"It's going to rain," he declares after he looks up at the sky and frowns at the slightly gray clouds hovering above us.

I look up. "It's not going to rain," I counter him. Sure, the sky is gray, and it is windier than several hours ago, but that doesn't mean it's going to rain for certain.

He shifts his attention from the sky to me, and a soft smile appears on his lips, decorating his features by making them gentler than they initially seemed. "Whatever you say, babe."

I smile and lower my look to the ground, watching our intertwined fingers as they move as a response to the movement of our bodies. This week long trip has only made me fall in love with him more than I was before, or simply made me realize I am in love with him more than I initially believed. I fell deeper in love with things I already know about him, and found new things to love about him - like the expression of his face when he's asleep, or the fact that he tries to remember his dreams as soon as he wakes up. On this trip he didn't have any strange voices in his head, whispering to him while he's asleep, while I did have my usual dreams every now and then, but they were blurry, unclear and short lived.

Maybe that's the difference between loving someone and being in love with them. You fall in love with them once you discover all their hidden corners and edges, like how they smell at each point of the day, or how their jaw moves when they chew. You fall in love with a person when they turn from a human being to living poetry.

"I can see myself living here," I stop, making him stop alongside me.

There are far less people here than I expected, every now and then we run into a young couple or a family with kids on this 3 mile boardwalk. I guess there's more people here once the vacation season starts, and weather becomes more stable.

I let go of his hand and move closer to the thick, green iron fence, looking at the empty beach covered with dark yellow sand. Behind it, there's a vast ocean stretching and expanding into places my eyes will never be able to reach.

"I have always wanted to live near the water," I inhale the salty scent in the air, filling my brain with memories through my nostrils.

The streetlamps are dimly lit as a sign that the day is slowly ending. In Mystic Falls, the night always comes so forcefully, no matter what time of the year it is. I can count beautiful, calming sunsets we had over there on the fingers of my hand.

He appears next to me. "You don't like Mystic Falls very much, do you?" he asks.

I shift my attention from the restless ocean to him, only to notice the same kind of restlessness in his eyes. I don't know if he really expects an answer to that question, because he already knows it, but the silence that has settled between us makes me give it to him anyway.

"It's the people that I don't like. They have to know everything about everyone, they push their nose into other peoples business, and they infuse drama. It's like we're living in Desperate Housewives. They make an already small town feel even smaller."

He bends his arms at the elbows and places them against the fence, and nods understandingly. I think he knows how poisonous our sweet, little community can be better than anyone.

"I don't think I would want to raise kids in a big city."

"You want to have kids?"

"Well, I don't know," he smiles softly, "But I would like to have a choice once the time comes. You?"

I look away from him, lowering my look to the ground, trying to find a difference between each grain of sand before me. Some seem silver, some golden, some are plain yellow. "Same," I mutter. "Once the time comes. Which will be a long, long time for now, if ever."

"Indeed," he agrees. "Until then, though, I could live in a city like this." He turns around, points his elbows at the fence, looking away from the ocean to the city building.

"Really?" I beam up, following his lead.

He turns his head, and gives me a soft, peaceful look. He doesn't say anything, but I guess his facial expression is as good of an as answer as any. He moves his head in the direction of mine, his jaw tight, and kisses me on the lips. It's a small, innocent peck, something couples do as an equivalent to a friendly hand squeeze or a bump in the shoulder, but it wakes up certain kind of hunger in me. I place my palm against his cheek, and push myself steadily away from the fence, my shoulder grazing against his chest. One of his hands goes to my hip, and the other one he places on the small of my back, his fingers tickling my nerves through the cotton of my dress. I kiss him deeper, moving my body closer to his until I close the distance between us and there's no more air to breathe.

There are hundreds of hotels placed on the boardwalk of Virginia beach, shining their light on us. It's still day enough for me to want to explore the city, but night enough for me to want to explore.. some other things.

I place my free hand flat across his chest, swallowing his heart beat. I move my lips away from his for air, the tips of our noses colliding awkwardly, when I feel something fall on my bare shoulder.

We both look up to see tiny drops of rain slowly descending upon us. I look back at him, and catch a smug look on his face.

"Not a word!" I warn.

* * *

We're staying in a cute little inn run by a young married couple. The woman inherited it from her grandmother who, before she passed away, decided her granddaughter is the one who should continue her work.

By the time we come inside, we are soaking wet, our clothes completely drained in water and our skin slippery. Okay, he was right, it was going to rain.

"I am freezing!" I yell with a jumpy voice, looking at the goosebumps on my skin.

"Come, I'll warm you up," he says mischievously, wrapping his arms around me from behind, pulling me closer to him. His cold skin makes my goosebumps grow another set of goosebumps on top of them.

"Stefan!" I exclaim his name, a bit annoyed, but my laughter starts bubbling in my lungs which my throat is more than happy to produce. I turn around in his wet hug and the first thing my eyes notice is how his rain drenched shirt sticks to his chest, almost becoming one with his skin.

"You know, we should really get out of this wet clothes, before we catch a cold," I look up at him from under my lashes, trying so hide my look from him out of some reason.

"Yeah, of course," he says regretfully, unwrapping himself from me and stepping back. He obviously thinks I'm angry or annoyed by his actions, and that he did something that causes me great displeasure.

"Stefan," I whisper, "I don't think you understand what I'm trying to say."

I look up at him, my shy look meeting his confused one. I raise my hand to the level of my shoulder and push the strap of my dress down my arm. I do the same to the other one, and take a step closer to him, correcting his mistake of creating the distance between our bodies.

As the straps fall down my arms, they take the upper part of the dress with them, pulling it down my torso. It's the beginning of May, it's fairly warm, especially here on the coast, so I made the most of it and wore a light summer dress. A dress that doesn't require a bra.

"What I mean is," I can see him glancing down when my dress, or the lack of it, begins to reveal my torso. "We should really get out of this wet clothes," I put the emphasis on the words _we_ and _really_.

He parts his lips slightly, like he's trying to say something, but no words come out of his mouth. So I step on my toes and kiss him on the lips.

Can a kiss cause a brain freeze?

* * *

 _ **STEFAN'S POV**_

When a girl you love starts taking her clothes off in front of you, you don't say anything. At least not something that would stop her from doing so.

Sex was a big part of my relationship with Katherine. Sometimes, it feels like it was the only thing we did during the time we spent together. She wasn't the one to talk much, at least not about the things that matter, while movies, books and similar leisure activities didn't interest her much. She called them too mundane, whatever that meant. She was annoyed and angry half the time, and it seemed like the only way for her to connect with another human being was through sex. Damon used to say that she's a _physical person_ , like that makes her special, like the rest of us aren't, which is why I wasn't surprised when her _physicality_ is drove us apart.

Elena was a whole different deal. I won't say I never though about her that way, I did, and often, but I knew from the start that having sex with her is something that I won't be doing for quite some time. Because a) she has never done it before and has absolutely has no idea what she's missing out on, and b) her mind was never in one place. She's a fascinating person who has an opinion on every single topic that comes up, who doesn't know how to retell a book in short lines, and who can spend hours talking about different dog breeds. Did it sometimes bother me, the fact that she's not even thinking about it, when all I could think about was how she would taste like in my mouth? Yes. Because she's hot, and she always smells good, and I'm 18 years old, and I love her so fucking much.

But then she would smile, or kiss me, or propose we should go for ice cream, or basically anything else, and somehow that would make it okay.

Now, she's standing in front of me, half naked, her floral dress wet from the downpour clinging to her hips, and I don't know what to do with her. And she's probably counting on me to know what to do because I suppose she has no idea what the next step is. But I don't know how to put my hands on her completely naked body and not hurt her.

She kisses me on the lips, her breasts grazing my shirt, making my skin tingle with excitement. Her hands go under my shirt, her fingers playing around the skin of my stomach, pulling my shirt up my torso. When she pulls it up to the middle, I help her and do the rest by myself, removing the shirt from my body and throwing it somewhere on the floor. She begins to explore my upper body, pulling her fingers up and down my torso. My hands reach for her hips and release them from the cage her dress had created around them. It falls around her ankles, covering her feet - she steps out of it and pushes it away.

So I do the only logical thing to do. With my hands around her waist I lift her up, she circles her legs around me, and I carry her of towards the bed.

* * *

Sex was never a big part of my life. It was neither a problem for me nor a main topic of interest. While Caroline was obsessed with _how_ , _who_ and _when_ , Bonnie was already having sex, I was spending my free time thinking there's something wrong with me. After some time I came to a fascinating discovery - people are different. Their brains work different, they have different interests, and they obsess over different things. For me, sex was something that's going to happen when I fall in love, when I meet someone I trust, when the right time comes. However, new Harry Potter book was something I had to read as soon as it's done printing.

When I started dating Stefan, sex became a big part of my life. Of my everyday thoughts. Whenever our make out sessions became extra heated I would think _is this it_? _Is this the day I lose my virginity_? He was probably waiting for me to initiate it, but I would always put so much thought into it that I could never really get into the mood. Like every other topic in my life, sex was something that I was overthinking which was, in one hand, good. I was being responsible, careful, safe, sure. On the other hand, I was getting to deep into it, opening topics similar to _why should I have sex_? _Because everyone are doing it_? _Because it's a normal thing to do_? _Because we see it in movies and shows and read in books_? _Is sex something that's imposed on us_?

These last few days I finally stopped thinking and, as a result, I found an answer. I should have sex with him because I want to have sex with him. I want. I don't have to, I don't need to, it's not my obligation, but it's my choice.

"Do you have, um, protection?" I ask after he lowers me down on the bed.

"Yeah," he answers.

"Good," I smile slyly. It would be too bad if we had to stop just because I didn't think condoms through before initiating this whole thing. But if I've learned anything from movies, teenage boys always have a condom with them.

He lowers himself on top of me, his entire weight set in his wrists. I pull my arms up and wrap them around his neck, the tips of my fingers landing on the top of his hair. He presses his chest against mine. His entire torso is hard and firm, muscle on top of muscle, and thick layer of skin wrapped around them.

When people fall in love, they say all kinds of weird shit. Like when they kiss their loved one, they can feel stars in their mouth and see the entire universe behind their closed eyelids.

Well, it's true.

I move my hands from their initial position and lower them down to unzip his trousers. He shakes them off his legs.

* * *

 _ **STEFAN'S POV**_

God, she's beautiful. She is.. there are no words for how she is. She transcends worldly descriptions of beauty.

I kiss her lips, her jaw, her neck. She puts her fingers in my hair, holding on to me as I move down her chest. I pass her rib cage, her stomach, and I pull down her panties.

I start planting kisses up her body. I finally find out what she tastes like. I hear the sound of her moan for the first time.

I reach her lips again. Her hands end up on my shoulders. Her hair is still wet from the rain, sticking to her skin, and mine as well.

"I love you so much, you know?" I whisper into her ear. She stretches her smile so wide that at one point it becomes audible.

She places her palm against my cheek, cupping the left side of my jaw. "I think so," she answers seriously. A smile starts to grow on her lips, "How about you convince me?"

* * *

Oh, he convinced me.

I'm 100% convinced.

* * *

We leave for Tyler's lake house early in the morning.

I woke up next to him, with his arm around me, my face nestled in the empty space between his shoulder and his neck. I woke up with his scent in my nostrils, and his taste on my lips. He woke up and kissed me on the mouth, and I swallowed his smile in exchange for my own.

The young couple escorted us out, and I didn't have a heart to refuse her banana bread even though we have more than enough to eat thanks to my mother. With her hand on her pregnant belly, she gushed over how cute we are.

He has offered to drive, so I'm sitting in the passenger seat with my feet on the dashboard, saying goodbye to the friendly surroundings on Virginia Beach.

"So, umm," he says awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck with one hand, firmly holding the steering wheel with the other, never taking his eyes off the road. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Why?" I frown at his question, confused, until I see the same expression on his face. "Oh, because of last night!" a light bulb inside my head turns on. "I'm fine, Stefan. Peachy," I grin from ear to ear, like a Cheshire cat. "Definitely want to do that again."

"Oh, yeah?" he says through laughter.

"You can bet."

We spend most of our ride back home in silence. Comfortable silence you can only share with a person you know won't think your silence means something negative. He tries to find songs that I like on the radio, and I blow him a kiss in return. Sometimes he reaches for my hand, brings it up and kisses my knuckles. Sometimes I reach for his to simply hold it while he drives.

We reach Tyler's lake house sometime in the late afternoon. I can hear Caroline squealing as soon as she lays her eyes on my car. By the time I get out of it, she's already standing in front of it, ready to throw her arms around me.

"Lena, Lena, you're finally here!" she sings, which is how I know that she's drunk. That, and she smells like a freshly opened bottle of vodka. "Hi, Stefan!" she waves at him, and he nods to her politely. I don't think he will ever warm up to her, considering everything that has happened, no matter how hard she tries to be polite to him.

"Yo, Stefan!" Tyler yells from the terrace, where all the guys and some of the girls are. "Beer's here!"

He looks at me. "Go, go," I whisper while Caroline is basically strangling me with her hugging abilities.

"Where's Bonnie?" I try to find her in the group of people Stefan is walking towards to, but I can't see her.

"Oh, she had to go home early," Caroline says, dragging me towards the lake where we can be alone. "Some family emergency, you know how her folks are. Party poopers. So, tell me, how was it?"

"How was what?" I cock my head to the side.

She furrows her brows. "The trip, Elena."

"Oh!" I exclaim. "It was great. Amazing. You know, we really do live in a beautiful, beautiful country."

"Ohmygod," she says, looking at me in shock. "You had sex!"

"What!?" I react instantly, surprised. How does she know? Is it written on my forehead?

"Don't what me!" her expression of shock turns into a smiling one. "Your virginity shield is gone! Poof! There's no _I-have-no-idea-how-dick-feels-like_ wall!"

"Keep your voice down!" I try to shush her, even though there's only a slim chance people on the terrace have heard us from this distance, or from the noise their voices are creating.

"You are officially dick certified!" she announces, crunches down and pulls a fistful of grass out of the ground which she, after standing up, throws all over me pretending it's confetti. "Congratulations!" Drunk Caroline has no shame.

"Caroline!" I place my hand over my mouth so she can't see me laughing.

"So, how did it happen?" she asks curiously, like a child, in the midst of discussing a topic that is not very childlike.

"Well, we got wet - "

"Mhm, mhm, that's usually how it starts," she interrupts me. I give her a scolding look. "I'm sorry, I had to, you basically laid it out for me to use," she grins, proud of herself. "I bet you laid it out for Stefan to use as well," she says and bursts into laughter.

"Caroline!" I yell. "I refuse to talk about this until sober Caroline shows up!" I start walking away from her towards the group on the terrace that doesn't have a slightest idea what's going on here, between us.

"Elena, wait," she says with a crying tone of voice, "What if I can't hold it in? What if I let it out?"

I raise my finger in the air as a warning. "Caroline, you better not tell all those people I lost my virginity!"

"Not that," she giggles, "I have to pee."

I inhale, then exhale, as a method of trying to calm myself down. "Then go pee, Care."

"Okay," she starts towards the bushes.

"Care, there's a toilet in the house!"

She crouches down behind the bushes. "Psssst," she whispers, "I'm peeing."

* * *

Caroline goes to sleep very early in the evening, and when we wake up in the morning I find her still asleep. I let Tyler know that I'll call her tomorrow, but that I have to leave now because my mom will go nuts if I'm not home in time for lunch like I promised I would be.

I drive Stefan home. He gives me a kiss goodbye before I'm able to say a word and gets out of the car to get his bag out of the trunk. I follow him.

"What are you doing?" he asks when he sees me walking towards him.

"Coming with you."

He smiles. "Oh, I see. And why is that?" he unzips his bag and start rummaging through it, trying to find his house keys.

He finds them just in time to look back at me and see me biting my lower lip. His smile widens as he unlocks the front door to let us in. I close the door behind us at the exact same moment he drops his bag on the floor, turns around, pins me against the wall and kisses me hard on the lips. His body crashes into mine, and my palms instantly move towards his chest, welcoming this sweet attack.

That's when we hear voices coming from the living room. We stop kissing and look towards the door at the end of the hallway which are closed shut. I don't think I have ever seen the their living room door closed - they're always open and welcoming.

"Is Damon home?" I ask.

The voice becomes louder, distorted and hoarse. I can't really recognize any of the words. I'm not even sure they're in English.

"I don't know. I haven't talked to him," he swallows, trying hard not to let me know that he's afraid. "Stay here," he says as he starts moving towards the living room.

I, of course, don't stay, but start walking behind him.

Another voice soars from the depths of the lungs. A female voice, vaguely familiar, but I can't really place it.

Stefan hurries up and pushes the door open. He doesn't move forward, he stands still, like he's buried in place.

"Stefan?" I say, and I can hear my voice cracking with each letter of his name. As I move towards him, I can see Bonnie standing on one side of the room and at the moment our eyes locked I could have sworn hers were on fire, and not metaphorically.

Damon is standing on the other side of the room. When I see him, when I take a real good look at him, I open my mouth to scream, but a scream born in my lungs dies somewhere in my throat.

There are two ashy wings protruding from his shoulder blades.


	27. Chapter 27

Stefan is standing in front of me, stiff as a rock, blocking the entrance to the living room. I don't want to go inside, peering over his shoulder at two impostors wearing the skin of people we know and love is excruciating enough.

Bonnie's eyes have dimmed down, her irises now free of all irregularities. She's looking at me with a worried expression on her face and a tilted head, unsure what her next move should be. Damon, on the other hand, doesn't seem worried at all, he seems annoyed by this situation. His wings are enormous, probably heavier than something a normal human being could carry on his back. The tips of his wings are entirely black, descending into ashy, like he has been in a fire and can't shake the aftermath off.

"I - I have to go home. My mom's waiting for me, she will be worried if I - " I start talking, my voice shaking like the number of layers on it doesn't match the weather outside, but a low growl coming out of the bottom of Damon's throat makes me stop.

"You're not going anywhere!" he cuts me off.

The intensity of his voice moves Stefan's body closer to mine, and he starts blindly tapping in the space between our bodies until he finds my hand and squeezes it with his own. I can feel him flinch like the sound of Damon's voice has woken up some suppressed memory which, I believe, was suppressed for a reason. There must be a terrified expression on my face, because Bonnie cries out my name.

"Lena, Lena, Lena," she says soothingly, now standing next to me, when a second ago she was standing on the other side of the room. She wraps her fingers around my wrist, and they feel foreign, so I flinch. She notices that, so the next words that come out of her mouth are very motherly, like she's handling a child who just woke up from a bad dream. "Come. Come inside," she urges both Stefan and me into the living room and, for some unknown reason, we obey.

As we walk into the room, she gives Damon a scolding look, condemning his behavior. Sometimes, Bonnie would seem far older than she actually was, and now she finally acts like it. But now, unlike before, she seems older than our counting system allows me to determine.

We sit on the couch, my hand still in his, like children who need to be surveyed. Damon gives us a look, his eyes lingering on Stefan, before muttering, "I'll give others a call." Bonnie nods, obviously supportive of the idea. There are several questions bumping into each other in my head - _others_? _What others_? _Who are the others_?

Damon leaves the room, contracting his wings so he can pass through the door without any problems.

Bonnie sits on the armchair next to us, as straight as an arrow, and folds her hands into her lap.

"You probably have a lot of questions," she says calmly, in her usual Bonnie like manner.

Stefan looks at her, stunned. "Well, I just saw my brother with wings coming out of his back, so yeah, I do have a lot of questions," he spits the words out, feeling a mixture of confusion, anger and betrayal.

She nods, "That's understandable."

I remember growing up with Bonnie. She was always so serious, even as a child, and sometimes I thought that she's missing some traits that make humans _human_. From time to time she would seem confused by reactions of other people, like she doesn't understand them. When I told them about Stefan and me, Caroline completely flipped, while Bonnie remained calmed and collected. Like it's no big deal.

He frowns, clearly annoyed by Bonnie's behavior. She's taking all of this too lightly for his taste. None of this is understandable. I have so many questions, but my mind is denying all of them, stomping all over their existence before they dare to turn into a thought.

Damon walks into the room, crushing his cellphone in his hand.

"They will be here in five," he announces, even though it's still unclear to me who _they_ are.

Bonnie furrows her brows. "If they continue to act so recklessly, someone will catch them."

He shifts his attention to us, only for a moment, before looking back at her. "Like it matters now."

"Are those real?" Stefan asks doubtfully. "They can't be real."

He's referring to Damon's wings. At this point, the only logical explanation to why Damon has wings is that he's staring in a play. At any other point in our lives, that would probably be the most illogical explanation in the world, because Damon is not a kind of a guy who would star in a play, especially not the one that includes wearing wings.

Damon looks at him, his dark blue eyes shining like the ocean under the moonlight and, I swear, I can see waves moving in his irises.

"Today, brother, you will realize many things you were told are unreal are actually real," he says cryptically.

"Bullshit," Stefan says rudely, rage seeping from between his teeth. "You're playing us."

I can't see why Damon would be messing with us by saying he has wings, let alone going to the lengths of making or acquiring real, life sized copies of them, but I can understand why Stefan perceives that explanation as the only possible one. Damon knits his brows, seeming offended that Stefan would doubt the realness of his wings. Then, he rolls his eyes, finally doing something we have all seen Damon do on daily basis, and turns his back to us. His muscles begin to convulse, and his wings begin to shake so fast that my eyes fail to follow the speed of their movements. Then, they begin to shrink, folding themselves as his body pulls them inside, and the only thing I can think about is _where does he store them_? _Is there a special room inside his body made for his wings_? Now that they are fully gone, his back looks the same as it always did, the only proof left of them are two giant gashes on his shirt where they used to protrude from. With my hand still in Stefan's, he squeezes it tightly, and I use my other hand to cover his for support he obviously needs.

Bonnie stands up and moves towards Damon with a speed of light, leaving behind the idea that no human can move this fast. "How do you want to handle this?" she makes an inquiry, saying words straight into his face, acting like a concept of personal space is unknown to her.

Damon doesn't seem to mind, and if he does, he doesn't let it show. "I don't know," he shakes his head worriedly, "I never had to handle it before. A part of me thought I'll never have to handle it."

Bonnie gives him a sympathetic look, but she looks like she wants to give him more than just a look. She looks like she wants to envelop him in a hug, or crawl under his skin to rid him of everything rotten that grows inside of him.

"Let's wait for others, then," is all she says.

He looks at her like he's begging for help, but at the same time he knows it's not her job to fix his problems. "Do you have a plan?"

She pulls her lips into a straight line, stretching them into infinity, trying to stop herself from speaking. She has a plan, she just doesn't know if it's the right one.

Instead of responding to him, she turns to us. "You know," she states. "You feel it," there's a pleading look in her eyes, like she's trying to convince us more than trying to make us admit. "That this is not where you belong."

Her words remind me of what Stefan told me not so long ago. _We don't belong here_.

Before either of us manages to respond to her statement, we hear a loud thump coming from outside of the house. Sound similar to something falling from the sky with a mighty force. Bonnie and Damon don't react to it, like they're used to hearing it. Someone opens the front door of the house and two sets of footsteps enter the hallway and start towards the living room. It doesn't take them long, and another two familiar faces enter the room. First Katherine, then Lexi. I can see surprise flash across Stefan's face when his eyes fall on them.

There are wings coming out of both of their shoulder blades. Katherine's are rose pink, while Lexi's are yellow, bordering with the color of gold.

"How did you let this happen?" Lexi roars at Damon. "This is not how things were supposed to go! They were supposed to figure it out by themselves!" she yells, clearly upset by the situation we have found ourselves in.

"I know, I know," Damon says defensively under the weight of the guilt he had placed on himself before anyone else had a chance to. "But maybe this is a good thing. This has never happened before," he gestures towards us. "Maybe this is our lucky shot!"

Katherine snorts, busy with checking out her nails, but no one pays any attention to her behavior.

Lexi inhales deeply, then exhales, upset things are not going according to the rules. Bonnie stands outside of the circle, like she doesn't belong in it, between them.

"Fine," Lexi finally says. "What do you propose we do?"

"Tell them everything."

This catches Katherine's attention and she shifts her look from her nails to Damon. "What?" she says, stunned by the idea. And, judging by her expression, somewhat grossed out.

"I'm serious," Damon says, looking at Lexi. It's clear that the two of them call all the shots, Katherine and Bonnie serve as a type of a support. "How many times have we done this? We never even came close to them. We used some made up tactics that clearly don't work. We came close only several times which is, statistically speaking, nothing. They suffer time over time over time, and we suffer with them. If we keep this up, we will never go home."

Lexi keeps looking at him even after he's done speaking while Katherine and Bonnie keep shifting their attention from her to him. Finally, Lexi nods, approving his strategy.

"Elena, sweetie," Bonnie says with a maternal tone of voice. "You should call your mom to tell her you're going to be late, this might take a while."

* * *

"Your knowledge of the universe is very restricted," Bonnie starts.

I called my mom to tell her that we're stuck in traffic, and that we probably won't make it home until late afternoon. I had to try extra hard to sound like everything's okay, and so did she in order to sound like she believes me. I went back to my seat, next to Stefan, only to notice the four of them had seated themselves across from us, like dominoes.

"All humans have a very restricted knowledge of the universe," Katherine clarifies, spitting out the word _humans_ like it might damage her throat if it stays inside of it for too long.

"Human belief that there's just one universe is beyond silly," Lexi adds with a smile on her face, the lack of knowledge humans apparently possess is entertaining for her.

"There are many, many different universes out there, it's just that everyone have a tendency of staying in their own," Bonnie continues her original thought. "We are not from around here. And when I say we.." she bites her lower lip, finding it difficult to form her thought into words.

"She means all of us," Damon helps her out, "Including you."

Laughter escapes from my throat. "Oh, not this again," I drag the words out. "Did you put them up to this?" I ask Stefan, and he shakes his head lightly, yet he doesn't seem as opposed to the idea as me. He's listening to them carefully, enthralled in the story. "First Daisy gives me that weird book about multiverses and hidden dimensions, then Stefan tells me he feels like we don't belong here, like there's some other life waiting for us somewhere out there," as I say that Bonnie gives Damon and Katherine a scolding look. He looks away, but Katherine just shrugs innocently. "And now you guys. All of this feels like a prank."

"Well, it isn't," Lexi dismisses my accusation instantly. "Now sit there quietly and listen to what we have to tell you."

I fall deeper into the couch, and Stefan scoots closer to me. I have never heard Lexi sound so bitter. Bonnie clears her throat, and continues with the story.

"We come from another universe, from a planet called Ierus. Unlike on Earth, there are many different species living on Ierus. For example, you have angels, like them," she points at Damon, Katherine and Lexi. Damon hid his wings, but Katherine and Lexi still proudly wear theirs. "And him," she looks at Stefan. "Angels are warriors. They make the army that's supposed to keep our nation safe. Each and every one of the angels contributes to the army, one way or another. And us," she points to herself, then to me. "We are witches. Daisy as well. We are.. farmers. Caretakers. Healers. We are providers. We are allowed to use magic, but only if it's a service to others. Angels have prohibited any other use of magic. There are laws, and if they catch you using it for your own self service the punishments are hard," she explains, evidently upset about the law witches have probably not agreed to easily, if at all. Sounds like something that was imposed on them. "Angels made some harsh laws, and not everybody liked them. Over time, they started getting harsher and harsher, so people started rioting. Angels tried to stop the riots, but their actions backfired, and with time a simple riot turned into a war."

I snort, "Well, angels sound like douchebags."

"Careful, little witch," Katherine growls at me. "Some of us have to make hard choices so the rest of you could keep selling happiness in vials. And on the streets," she smirks devilishly, "If you know what I mean."

Everything I know about angels must be a lie because Katherine is the furthest thing from one.

"That's enough, Aikaterine," Damon says just as Bonnie flinches at her words. _Aikaterine_?

"Angels are royalty," Bonnie continues, trying to explain it to us. "They're not only warriors, they're also rulers and lawmakers. They are strict towards their own kind as they are strict to every other kind there is, if not stricter."

"There's a saying, _every law angels make hard for others, they make twice as hard for themselves,_ " Lexi states, happy she can contribute to the story. "If someone breaks the law, they receive a punishment in accordance with the degree of their crime. But if angels break the law, they get their wings taken away from them."

"Our society is a traditional one," Bonnie continues, now jumping to another topic. "Each species likes to keep their bloodline pure, so they don't mix with another species. It's not forbidden, but they rarely choose to. Angels, however, take much pride in their purity and they procreate only within their own species. They can seek pleasure elsewhere, of course, yet having offspring with some other species is punishable by law. Not only for the angel, but for their mate and the evidence of their insubordination as well."

"And when you say evidence of insubordination, you mean a child?" I ask, horrified. If they live in such limited society, then the sin of his parents is enough, the child needs no further punishment.

"Yes," Bonnie nods.

"Angels are often attracted to witches, and they seek pleasure among them," Damon admits. Finally, a topic that interests him. "Witches are allowed to use magic during intercourse, and they receive a lot of money for it, it's one of the most fruitful businesses in your community."

I look at Bonnie with raw panic in my eyes. She recognizes it immediately.

"Oh, no, don't worry," she shakes her head, denying my thought. "You weren't a whore," she puts me at ease.

"A child between an angel and a witch is a very dangerous thing, and this we are taught from a very young age. The strength and power of an angel mixed with the magic of a witch would create a hybrid so powerful that, if it went rogue, it could destroy an entire planet. We are told that we can take pleasure in witches, but that we do it at our own risk," Damon notes. "If a witch stays with a child, it's a civil duty of every person to report her to the authorities."

"And then what?" I inquire, even though I have a pretty good idea.

Bonnie looks me in the eyes, and swallows hard. "They take care of it." She doesn't have to say the exact words, I know what that means.

"I don't understand," Stefan says, "How do we fit into all this?"

"Your name is Cleon, you were the son of a King, his second in command, and the leader of the fourth battalion," Damon responds instead of Bonnie, looking directly at Stefan, paying zero attention to me. I don't even think he acknowledges me in his brothers story. "You were the rightful air to the throne after me, Demonsthenes, your brother. Aikaterine here," he points at Katherine, "Was a warrior in your battalion, and she was one of the best we had."

Katherine frowns at him. "The best," she points out.

But Damon ignores her. "And your future bride, when you come of age. She was promised to you since the day she was born. Our father held hers in a very hard regard."

Now it's my turn to flinch.

"Alexandra here," he points at Lexi, who waves at him like she's being introduced to him for the very first time, "Was mainly a script writer. She wrote the laws our lawmakers made. And she was your best friend."

She shrugs at Damon's accusatory tone as he introduces her as a script writer. "I don't really like violence. And neither did you, nor did you like being a warrior."

"I'm Artemisia," Bonnie introduces herself, "Your name is Elpis, and I was your mentor. Every witch has a mentor that guides her through the process of discovering her element. Mine is fire," she declares. I guess that explains the color I have seen in her eyes when we first came in. "We never did discover yours, but I think it would have been either wind or energy. Hypatia, whom you known as Daisy, was your best friend and the closest thing you had to a family after you lost your parents."

"And Caroline?" I ask with a hushed tone of voice.

She looks at me sympathetically. "Caroline is just Caroline. She belongs here."

"How about Elijah and Klaus?" Stefan asks. "They have weird enough names to be one of you guys."

"Oh, they're just foreigners!" Lexi giggles. "Foreigners, but human."

"Lexi likes humans," Katherine says disgustedly. "So she just had to go and make friends. And you mean one of us, including you."

"I'm still not convinced. What's our part in all of this? What are we doing here? And why don't we remember any of this?"

"Oh, isn't it painfully obvious?" Katherine spits out, clearly annoyed with the story. "You fell in love."

"Like your brother said, you never did like being a warrior," Lexi starts. "Well, what you really didn't like was not having a choice. From a very early age we become aware of our destiny, and we begin our training from the moment we learn how to walk. You always felt like someone else chose your life for you, and since the moment you were born, you were someone. Second in the row to rule us all, future warrior, and someone's future husband. So you liked to roam the villages, because you liked to watch people making everyday choices. To you it seemed like every member of every other species makes more choices on everyday basis than you will make in your entire life. That's where you met Elpis," she gives me a warm smile. "Well, at first you just watched her, like some little creep," she says jokingly. "You spent all your free time, which you didn't have much of, watching her. And when you came back to the court, you would tell me stories about her and what she did that day. I never perceived them as dangerous, you were always telling me these delightful, innocent stories. When you stopped mentioning her is when I realized something must be terribly wrong. Finally, you introduced yourself to her. She knew who you were, everybody knew both of the King's sons. And by the time you actually started talking to her, you already loved her, so it didn't take you long to fall in love with her. She was your choice."

"You were very similar," Bonnie continues. "You didn't talk much, and you didn't converse easily, but you were silently rebellious. You had a very strong opinion on everything. When you met Cleon, you blossomed. It was my prime suspicion that love has entered your life, but I didn't know it was him, not until Hypatia told me. She was worried about you, but by the time I found out it was already too late."

"You kept your relationship a secret, and you were very, very careful about it. But our father found out about your rendezvous and he was deeply ashamed of your actions, so he decided to send you to war. Your death was more acceptable to him than the shame of you getting stripped of your wings. After all, angels who fell in war were celebrated as heroes, while angels without wings were considered traitors," Damon explains calmly. "However, going to war wasn't an option for you. You told the story to our mother, who took pity on you since you were her favourite, and told you about a dark, forbidden spell used for travelling between universes. No one outside of this circle knows it was her that helped you. I never told anyone. I already lost my brother, I couldn't handle watching my own mother getting her wings taken away from her and being banished from the court. But the angels working at the archives noticed someone was at the restricted section and discovered which spell is missing the very same day you took it. They notified our father who, when he heard which spell is gone, realized it was you who took it. He had found a warlock whom you payed a fair sum of money to do the spell, but by that time he had already done the spell."

"You came here thousands of years ago. At Ierus, time moves differently. Thousands of years here are little more than two years in our time. You wanted to live your life somewhere where you're allowed to love each other, where you're allowed to start a family and live happily ever after."

"But that was taken from you," Damon jumps in, "By our father. He wasn't only ashamed of your actions, brother, he was deeply hurt and betrayed. What you did broke him for all eternity. When he found the warlock who had preformed the spell, instead of punishing him, he made him do another spell in order to punish you. He wanted to take away your happily ever after just like you have taken away his, so he had made the warlock undo his original spell and do a new one. The warlock tried to tell him that if he did that, there's a chance you might get lost in time and space, forever stuck in dark matter between two universes. By then, father was insane with grief and pain that he didn't care or listen to the warlocks words. So the warlock undid the spell and, per fathers request, made a new one. No one knew what the result was until father made me travel the universes to find you, to see what has become of you. After months of searching, I have finally found you here, and had to watch you to realize the effects of the spell. Your lives seemed so short to me, they lasted what I knew can't be more than a couple of days at Ierus, and until I realized that's how time moves here I thought that's the effect of the spell. But then I realized the effect is much, much worse."

"What is it?" I ask curiously, rocking on the edge of the couch.

"You meet, you fall in love. Sometimes it doesn't work because of some mundane cause, but mostly it does. The times it does work, it's worse than when it doesn't. You always try to have a baby, but you're never able to. You either never conceive, or you suffer loss after a loss. After some time, the dreams come, but it's never you brother who has them, it's always her. She starts remembering, dreaming about your past lives, and it starts driving her insane which starts driving you insane. You live a very unhappy life until you finally die, tortured by all the lives you have lived. And then, after several years, it happens again. You are born, you meet, you fall in love, and the torture starts again. When I first found you, your lives weren't as difficult, since you didn't have that many previous lives ahead of you. But the longer you are here, the more lives you accumulate, and this planet is, as the centuries go by, only turning into a more difficult place to live in, and so are your present lives."

"From what it seems," Bonnie finds a way to wiggle back into the conversation, "You're not only remembering or dreaming about your past lives, you're reliving them. You go back in time and you live in the moment, and that's why your dreams are so vivid and real. It's because they're not dreams at all, but a reality. Somehow, when you sleep, you travel into the past, and then you get pushed back into the present. And I think that's why you can never get pregnant, because you don't live at one point in time, so even if you do manage to conceive you lose the baby as you travel through time."

"But why does it happen?" I ask pleadingly.

"We don't know. We don't know the exact spell the warlock used, nor we can find it. The King had the archives burned, and the warlock was killed on the spot. All the dark, forbidden spells were kept in the archive, and now they're lost to us. The only spell the King saved is the one you used to come here. But even if we did know which spell the warlock had used, that doesn't mean it was done correctly. Magic, especially dark magic, is very dangerous to do when your subject is outside your reach."

"Can't you ask your father?" Stefan gives Damon a look.

"He's dead," Damon says blatantly with a serious, but calm look on his face.

"And you have no idea how to reverse the spell?" I ask, now captured in the story.

Bonnie shakes her head.

"Why do you think we're still stuck here?" Katherine retorts.

I frown at her obviously rhetorical question. "Well, why are you still here?"

"Other than the obvious reason that your life will turn into a living hell and we want to help?" Damon asks mockingly. He tightens his jaw, but then releases it as the next sentence starts bubbling inside of his mouth. "Speaking from the perspective of someone who loves his brother, I want to bring him home."

Stefan gives him a look, surprised his brother would declare his affections so openly. "Won't there be consequences if we go back home?"

"Can you really imagine a worse life than the one I told you about? Having to watch the woman you love lose her mind with pain, and grief, and confusion?" Damon challenges him, yet Stefan doesn't say a word. "Our society has changed over the years. Plus, everyone who knew about what you did are probably dead by now."

"Wouldn't we still be having the dreams, even if we went back?" I look at Bonnie.

"If we took you back like this, then probably yes. Which is why we have to break the spell. You have to remember your true self," she explains.

"And you have no idea how to break the spell?" I ask once again, just for good measure. She shakes her head no, and I groan, pushing myself back into the couch. I'm tired of this.

"Earlier, you said that this wasn't supposed to happen," he looks at Lexi, but all of them nod, like they're obliged to answer him. "And that it has never happened before. You mean us discovering who you really are?" again, they all nod affirmatively.

"We were unsure how our presence in your lives would affect the spell. But, in recent years, out of desperation and helplessness, we started getting close to you in glamoured forms. We thought that maybe us being close to you would help you remember. I started steering your dreams in the right direction," she looks at me, "Systematizing them, turning them into a story. Him," she points at Damon, like naming him would leave a bitter taste in her mouth, "Took it up on himself to help his brother out in that department by trying to create his dreams. He thought that would speed up the process, if the two of you worked together, but I was strongly against it. Playing with someones dreams is dangerous enough, creating them from scratch, from memories that might not even be there anymore, is beyond irresponsible!"

"I had participated as well!" Katherine says proudly, like she's actively seeking for the most inappropriate moment to say the most inappropriate thing.

"The voices.." Stefan says, bewildered. "That was you?" he looks at his brother. I remember him telling me that the voice in his head sounds familiar, similar to his own, but not quite.

"It worked?" Damon asks cheerfully, looking from Stefan to Bonnie with a self indulgent smile on his face.

Stefan ignores him. "You can do that? Give us our memories back?"

"Well, no," she furrows her brows, "We can induce dreams. We simply thought that, somehow, that would bring your memories back as well. Maybe you're the only ones who can break the spell," she shrugs.

"I can't do this!" I cry out, "You have told us a very nice story, but that's all it is - a story. If you think I'm going to take your word for it, you're crazy!"

"Lena," Stefan tries to calm me down by placing his palm on my knee and whispering my name.

"No!" I yell, standing up. "You want me to break some spell I know nothing about to go back to a life I don't even remember? I'm a pretty open minded person, but you can't expect me to swallow magic and multiverses and star-crossed lovers in one sitting. I - I.. Maybe I don't want any of this. Maybe I don't want to be a mediocre witch in a patriarchal society on some other planet in some other universe who fucks up majorly for the sake of some guy with the wings. Maybe I want to be a simple human with family and friends, even if that ends up driving me insane."

I swallow hard after saying those words. All the eyes in the room are on me, except Stefan's.

I close my eyes shut. "I have to go," I start towards the door, and no one does anything to stop me.

* * *

 _A/N: And the truth is out! You guys probably have a lot more questions, so hold on tight, there's more to come in the next chapter!_

 _Also, if you notice any irregularities between this and previous chapters (in what was stated), or plot holes, please let me know!_


	28. Chapter 28

Sometimes, your brain decides to play tricks on itself. It knows that it's the strongest and most powerful organ in your body, and it knows the only opponent worth of its time is it itself. So it makes you afraid of the dark, it makes you see things that aren't really there, it makes you feel like you're falling down when you're half asleep, and it fabricates your dreams so perfectly that you fail to set them apart from reality. You know those dreams, those realistic ones, dreams that make you think that whatever's in your head is actually happening until you notice some small, but highly unlikely detail that makes you realize you're actually dreaming?

Recently, I've been finding so many irregularities in my reality, but I can't seem to wake up. And when I'm aware that I'm asleep, I dream of realities that shouldn't be possible.

Until today, I haven't even realized how inherently fucked up my life has gotten. How did I allow it and, more importantly, why? Why did I even start contemplating offered scenarios as possible? What made me think _'okay, this makes sense'_ when a stranger came up to me and said _'oh, your dreams aren't dreams, they're your past lives'_? What made me take them so lightly to begin with, especially back when they were practically torturing me?

Probably that undeniable feeling that they're real, and true, but I have no idea where that feeling came from. Maybe it has always been inside me, since I have always been prone to otherness. Routine and everyday and real-life scenarios bored me to death when I was a child. When I played, I was never a doctor, a teacher, a cook, I was always a dragon, a princess, a fairy. Maybe my mind didn't like my interpretation of the world around me, and this is its revenge. Maybe I'm tied down in some mental institution and all of this is happening in my head.

I shake my head. I'm talking nonsense, ranting to myself, which only makes me seem crazier. I shut his front door behind me, trying to undermine the repetitive feeling that I'm closing them for the very last time, and I start towards my car. As I reluctantly squirm into the front seat, I almost jump out of my skin when I notice, from the corner of my eye, someone already sitting comfortably on the passenger seat, looking straight at me.

"No need to be afraid," Bonnie says when she notices my startled face. She may have a different name, and maybe even wear a different face underneath this one, yet she is still so Bonnie like - calm and collected.

And, I guess, that is the reason I believe her when she says that there's no reason to be afraid, and I lower myself down on the car seat. I don't say anything, nor do I look at her, partially out of fear I won't be able to look into her eyes ever again without seeing a witch instead of my best friend.

"This is your time to talk," she says after several minutes of silence pass between us.

"I don't have anything to say, nor have I requested a time to talk," I say stubbornly, with an unnecessary dose of bitterness.

"Well, I'm giving it to you anyway," she replies, equally stubborn, if not more.

I cross my arms over my chest, huffing to convey my disapproval of this situation. "Fine, but like I said, I don't have anything to say. I don't know what to make out of that SF story you have told me earlier, nor do I know should I believe you or not."

"Why wouldn't you believe us?"

I keep staring forward, refusing to look at her, even though I'm curious about how she had managed to ask such a question with a straight expression on her face.

"I have no reason to," I try to brush her off.

"Even though several people dear to you claim it's the truth and have showed you a physical proof of that truth?" she had an answer to that question ready all along, and didn't even have to think twice about using it against me.

I exhale through my nose, angry, and finally look at her only to find her already staring at me with eyes greener than usual. I try to not let it distract me. "Okay, let's say I believe you. Let's say I buy your story entirely. Why should I go along with it?" I ask the last questions almost victoriously, thinking she won't have an answer ready for me this time.

But she does. If their story holds water, she had more than enough time to prepare answers to any and every question with a possibility of popping into my mind. She cocks her head to the side, still calm, like my words are not bothering her at all. "Because you don't belong here. This isn't your home, this isn't your planet, this isn't even your universe."

I exhale again, tired of this reasoning. "This is my home. My family is here, my friends are here, my life is here. You are asking me to leave all of that behind for a life in which I have no family, no friends, where I'm considered a lower being because of which I can't be with the boy I love. A life I have no recollection of."

"But you do," she raises her voice for a bit, and the green in her eyes starts adapting specks of fiery red, which shakes me to my core.

I try to not let it show. "I have a recollection of hundreds of lives I have spent here, but zero recollection of the life I have spent in some other universe. A life that is supposedly the original one, the real deal."

She closes her eyes and shakes her head, and when she opens her eyes again they are as green as spring lawn, with no irregularities in them. "You do have memories of it, they are simply locked inside your mind. If you remembered our reality, you would see how wrong this place is."

"Well, then, I want to keep them locked," I spit out, angry at her and her unnerving need to convince me into something I do not want to be convinced. "Bonnie, I'm sorry, but I can't do this today," I may have said that I'm sorry, but I don't sound very apologetically. "Nor can I see myself dealing with it anytime soon. All I want to do is go home to be with my family. Can you please let me do that?"

Her look is hard, but after some time it turns into an understanding one. "Sure," she nods, and without another word gets out of the car, leaving me completely and utterly alone.

* * *

When my mom saw me walk through the front door, she practically jumped from our living room couch, flew across the room, and flung herself around my neck. I have never experienced a longer hug. Dad had to peel her body from mine so he could get his own turn and wrap his arms around my shoulders, squeezing me tightly. It took me some time to regain my breath after that wild hugging party.

Dad got a chance to ask me few practical questions about the trip before mom dragged me to the kitchen, requesting some alone girl time. She sat me down, like I'm a small child, and decided I need chamomile tea and chocolate chip cookies. I was too afraid of the wild look in her eyes to decline anything, especially something she herself made.

"So, how was the trip?" she asks giddily, acting more like a friend than a mom which is not something I'm accustomed to, so I have decided to act wearily until I get to the bottom of her behavior.

I smile politely. "It's kinda hard to describe it in one word."

"Was it everything you dreamed it would be?" she takes a cookie and stuffs it into her mouth, taking mouse-like chews.

 _Definitely_ , is what I think. "Yes," is what I say instead, turning down the volume of my excitement.

She nods, swallowing the bites of a crumbling cookie. "Is your heart in place now? Did you get everything you need out of the trip?"

 _And more_ , I chuckle inside my head. "I think so," are the words that come out of my mouth.

"Good, good," she says cheerfully, "I'm happy for you, then."

I can sense a _but_ coming, even though she doesn't say anything right away.

I take a real good look of my mom, and I come to a conclusion that there's no chance in hell that she's not real. There's no chance that there's some universe in which she isn't my mom, or where she doesn't exist at all. And if there is one, I can't call that place my home. If a reality where I didn't grow up in this house, where my mom doesn't bake a fresh batch of cookies everyday, where my dad doesn't have his sofa, where Jeremy doesn't pile junk under his bed even exists, then screw it. Give it to someone else, because I don't want it, and I certainly don't want to call it mine.

"Elena," she looks at me worriedly, and by the look in her eyes I can tell that there's something on her mind. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," I say instantly, knowing very well that there's a chance I might regret it as soon as the words leave her mouth.

She bites her lower lip, indicating that the idea of asking this particular question makes her nervous, so I brace myself.

"Stefan.." she says his name carefully, silently, as if he's going to appear in front of her if she raises the tone of her voice. "Is he someone you can see yourself with, in the long run?"

That question catches me off guard, since I never really gave it too much thought. Do I love him? Yes. Am I in love with him? Yes. Am I 100% sure our relationship is strong enough to survive all the obstacles life can and will throw in front of us? No. I mean, we do have a good track record for now, but we have been together for less than a year.

Less than a year? God, it seems much, much longer than that - sometimes it seems like we have been together for years. Maybe because we have been together for several lifetimes.

But when it comes to this one, I simply don't know. This one seems extremely messed up for us to have our happily ever after. But then again, maybe that's what each past version of me thought as well.

"I don't know, mom," I shrug. "Haven't really thought about it, since we haven't been together that long" I give her an honest reply.

"Oh," she gasps. "With college approaching, you should take into consideration that you two might end up living in two different places. Maybe two different lives. And you seem to love one another a lot, and you have achieved that in a very short period of time."

I think we are destined to live different lives even if we end up living in the same place. Because, at this point, I'm not sure who am I going to catch in his body when I wake up tomorrow - my Stefan, or some being from a different universe.

"Are you okay, dear?" she asks after I give her a silent treatment.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I had a long and tiring day today. And while the trip was amazing, I kinda missed my bed. So, maybe, we can have this talk some other time?" I ask pleadingly.

She gives me a mom-like smile. "Of course", she says warmly, and I hop off my stool, grabbing the cup of chamomile tea and several cookies in one hand, leaving the other one free for my suitcase. "And Elena," she says as I turn my back to her. "No matter where you go, your bed will always be here waiting for you."

I smile, even though she can't see me. "Thanks, mom."

Hypothetically, if I ever do go to another universe, what would happen to this one? Would it cease to exist? Would it continue without me? Would every trace of me vanish, or would people dear to me spend the rest of their lives wondering what has happened to me?

I look around the hallway frantically, unable to find my suitcase.

"Already took it to your room!" I hear my dad yell from the safety of his living room sofa.

"Thanks!" I yell in return.

I'm in a desperate need of a shower to wash this day off of me.

* * *

 ** _STEFAN'S POV_**

It seems that no one has any intention of ever leaving our living room. Bonnie left soon after Elena did, giving Damon an icy glare before, during and probably after her exit. I can tell it bothers him, even though he probably wouldn't admit it for the life in him. After she left, the three of them started exchanging pleasantries in a language unknown to me, which was my sign to leave them alone.

I grab a beer from the fridge, something I so rarely do, and exit to the backyard to sit on the cold, wooden steps. I pull a sip of beer straight from the bottle, and afterwards I instantly place my head between my legs. I used to watch my father in this exact same position through the net of our back door many years ago. Maybe his head was full of unruly thoughts as mine is now, and maybe that's why he was the way he was. Maybe they made him go crazy, just like they are making me. I am thankful for the fact that the only life I can ruin with my behavior is my own.

"Cleon," I hear a gentle voice, a voice I would never connect to the face I see hovering above me when I raise my head. We continue to stare at each other - she in my openly visible swollen, red eyes, and I at her barely visible face, hidden in the dark hallway, shielded from the flickering light coming from an old bulb that's hanging above the door. We have never seen this side of one another, at least not in this life.

"You are free to come out and join me," I say after I turn back around.

She steps out and sits next to me, her wings still wide open, its tips gently caressing my back. I think about warning her that someone might see her and her wings, but I don't think she cares. She looks so comfortable, like they are a limb she kept folded for way too long and now she has to stretch it out.

"I'm sorry," I say, without planning to.

"For what?" there's a crease on her forehead now, indicating confusion.

"For what I apparently did to you. Left you. Cheated on you. Whatever." Not my finest hour, and definitely not my most eloquent apology.

"It's fine, I'm over it," she shrugs.

I have no more words to say on the topic. I can't continue apologizing for something I don't remember doing, for reasons I can only understand from my current perspective.

"I was angry for a long, long time. Centuries is what humans call them. I loved you, and you were supposed to love me, because that's how it goes when to people are promised to one another. But you chose to love someone else," she explains. I don't know how I feel about living in a world where people are promised to one another based solemnly on their birth.

"When did you stop being angry?" I ask curiously.

"I still am, but for different reasons. I'm angry at you for realizing it before me, which means I'm also angry at myself."

"Realizing what?" I cock my head to the side, looking at her from a different angle.

She gives me a piercing look, judging me for forgetting such an important lesson. "That before love becomes a promise, it has to be a choice first."

I never considered myself to be so wise. Maybe, once upon a time, I was.

"I also wanted you to know that I was never unfaithful to you," she bites her lower lip, taking her eyes off of me. "Including this lifetime of yours."

"But you - " I start, but she doesn't let me convey my shocked thoughts.

"What I did was selfish. I have been watching you choose her in hundred different lifetimes, no matter how hard your life was, no matter how long it took you to find one another, and no matter how wrong the situation seemed. This time, your lives seemed different, because you knew each other since you were children, but you never came close to falling in love. You weren't even friends. So, for once, I wanted you to choose me and, for a while, you did. Which made me realize it was never her that was the problem, it was us - we never would have worked because we are too damn different. And if our lives were ordinary, if you never met her, maybe that wouldn't have mattered. We would be just one more unhappy angelic couple in the row. But your choices made our lives extraordinary, and now our differences matter. And because of that, I wanted to make you feel the same kind of pain I felt when I was told you ran away with her. Pain of betrayal."

"So you made me think you cheated on me?" I ask.

"Yes," she admits, gritting her teeth. "It was cruel, and it was selfish of me."

I nod, trying to understand her point of view. I don't think it's important that I understand it though, since this is not about me, this is about her.

I take another sip of beer. "You know what Katherine? We all have to be a little bit selfish sometimes in order to survive."

* * *

"Soooo..." Caroline flops on my bed, face down, wiggling her brows. "How was the..." she clears her throat with the help of a cough, "...trip?"

I laugh at her not so subtle way of trying to be, well, subtle. "Oh, it was fine," I hum, amused. "Liberating. Freeing. We ate a lot of junk food. And saw a lot of cool places. All in all, the trip was satisfying," I look down, watching her frown and disappointment grow with each passing second from the corner of my eye. "If you are, on the other hand, asking how the sex was..." I bite my lip.

"No way!" she gasps, jumping on all fours.

"Oh, way," I pull a wide smile across my lips.

"How was it?" she pulls herself closer to me, basically placing herself in my lap as the curiosity in her eyes grows.

"Well, it was my first time," and second, and third, but I'm not about to tell her that out of fear she would scream my eardrums off. "So I didn't exactly see stars colliding and volcanoes erupting." More like cars continuously crashing into one another and mountains collapsing, but in a weirdly good way. "But I can definitely see what all the fuss is about," I admit.

"I'm so happy for you," she starts clapping cheerfully.

"Why is this so important to you?" I ask, curious about her curiosity over my sex life.

"Because discovering that side of life is a big part of our current reality, and up until now I was having a one way conversation," she explains.

I nod, trying to understand her side of the story. I always thought she has Bonnie to discuss those topics with, but I guess Bonnie was never much of a talker when it comes to her sex life. Now I understand why, but the same can't be said for Caroline.

"Care, can I ask you something?" I turn my serious voice on.

She senses that, and replies jokingly, "Is it of sexual nature?" Her question was expected, since she's prone to seriousness.

"No," I crinkle my nose. "And it's going to be an extremely silly question, but please try to take it seriously, okay?"

She nods, curious to see where this is going.

"Okay, so..." I start, finding it harder than I initially thought to actually find words to say this. "You're Caroline, an ordinary girl, living a normal life."

"Well, when you put it like that, my life sounds so dull," she rolls her eyes.

"Nothing dull about it," I try to erase the effect my words have left on her. "You're surrounded by family, and friends, and you're happy. The future is full of possibilities and nice things that are just waiting to happen."

Those words make her smile, and that smile makes me think I want to be there for all the nice things her future holds so I can witness it becoming brighter and deeper.

"But then, one day, strange things start happening to you."

She frowns. "What kind of strange things?"

"Any kind. Stray cats start talking to you in English," I say the first thing that pops into my mind.

"Okay.." she replies wearily.

"At first you, of course, ignore them. You think it's a coincidence, your mind playing tricks on you. But after some time it starts driving you crazy, so you start looking for answers. Finally, the cats approach you and tell you that they come from another planet, that you're one of them, and that they're here to take you home. What do you do?"

"What the fuck, Elena?" she bursts out laughing.

Okay, maybe cats were the wrong example. I try to remain serious. "Okay, despite the silly cat example, the point of the story remains the same - what do you do? Do you tell them off and continue living your life as it was, or do you take a chance and see where their crazy ass story takes you?"

"Hmm.." she starts thinking about it thoroughly. "Take a chance, definitely."

"Why?"

"Because, no matter which way you choose to go, you might end up regretting it, either for never taking a chance or for taking it and finding out something you wish you hadn't. But only by taking a chance you can actually receive something out of the experience. By not taking it, you can only miss out on it."

Just as I'm about to reply, my phone decides that whatever I wanted to say should be left unsaid, and chimes. Stefan, written in big white bold letters, with a double pink heart next to it, appears on my screen. I'm not ready to talk to him, but if I don't answer Caroline might find it weird and I don't want to put myself in a situation where I have to lie to her more than I already am.

So I pick it up and answer.

"We should talk," the voice on the other side says. No hello, no how are you, no nothing.

Sometimes, you brain decides to play tricks on itself. But the cruelest tricks it can pull is by involving other organs in the game as well. Like your heart.

And when both of them decide to plot against you and convince you that you're in love.

* * *

 _ **NA:**_ _I'm so so so so soooo sorry for not updating earlier. My life has been hectic recently. I travelled A LOT, and I've basically been living in a suitcase the last month and a half._

 _Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this chapter._

 _Happy winter holidays!_


	29. Chapter 29

I want to meet up with him. I want to see him. I want to place my face into the crook of his neck, nuzzle my nose against his skin, have his arms around my shoulders. My body is proportioned this way only to fall perfectly into his, like a never-ending puzzle - I have a soft curve for every sharp edge of his. I am strong, loud, decisive, I am determined, ambitious, inspirational, I am much more than this pretty little shell of mine. In his arms I am small, but only because I allow myself to be. And I allow myself such luxury only so he can wrap me up in himself until I lose myself in his folds, warm and safe and happy. I want his smell to fill up my nostrils again, I want to breathe him in, I want to inhale him just like I inhale air, naturally and softly and everyday since I feel like he is a key to my survival anyway. I can still taste him in my mouth - he has a flavor of every color of the rainbow. I want to wake up next to him again, my head on his bare chest, the sound of his heartbeat accompanying me to my dreams. His arm around me, keeping me close to him, so I don't float away.

Of course I want to meet up with him. I love him. When I am not with him, I want to be with him, and when I am with him, I want to be closer to him. When for others I am a storm, for him I am a drizzle, and when for others I am hurricane, for him I am a soft summer breeze. Skin to skin, flesh to flesh, bone to bone, I want him today, tomorrow, forever. I guess that answers my mothers question, as well as my own perplexity. _Is he someone you can see yourself with, in the long run?_ Yes. The universe is wide, time is eternal, and so is my love for him. Before, I never thought I could express my love to him in such a devoting way, since I am only 18 and he is my first... everything. Now I realize I am more than 18, I have lifetimes behind me, and I have loved as many men as there are years in my bones, each and every both different and similar to him. I have dreamed white picket fences for us, as well as sturdy castles and small cottages in the middle of a small village. I have dreamed so many different lives for us, yet I do not know where those lives lead, or how they end. Maybe there is a reality where I don't have to dream us a future, where it just happens, a reality this human body can't handle, and this human mind can't accept. But this universe or another one, human or angel, I love him all the same.

Yet, when he says he wants to meet up to talk, I accept grudgingly, like I would rather have crows pick at my insides than see his face ever again. Hopefully, Caroline didn't notice the reluctant expression on my face as I agreed to see him like it is a burden, not a pleasure. We agreed to meet at a neutral place, a park in the city center, in the evening. No one ever visits that park, especially not in the evening, aside from horny teenagers who are still not old enough to go to a more secluded place.

On my way there I think about all the possible topics he wants to talk to me about, and what my answer to those topics is going to be. He probably wants to talk about our heritage, the whole angel/witch business, our forbidden relationship, and a supernatural universe that is our home. It is like I am reading a back cover of a super trashy Sci-Fi novel, and I am your stereotypical heroine, damsel in distress, one side of star-crossed lovers.

I look myself in the rear-view mirror. No, nothing supernatural about me. My eyes are still the same brown color as they have always been, there are no spells on the tip of my tongue, or any inhumane power underneath my fingertips.

I thought my dreams were supposed to mean something, something more than this. I remember struggling with them, I remember waking up from them violently, sweaty and shaking like I have a fever, I remember being afraid of falling asleep because I often felt like I am one with people in my dreams. I felt their despair, sadness, loss, love, and happiness as purely and intensely as they did. Like I am experiencing all those emotions with them, or through them, or like once upon a time I was them. Where did all those people come from, and where did they go?

I shake my head in order to drive all those thoughts away. I should be glad that they are gone, they were a nuisance, as well as hard to live with.

At least they were familiar. All I remember from the life they speak of are shadows, slippery skin, dark caves and vague dreams, which proves nothing.

When I approach the park I see him sitting on one of the benches, his hands hidden deep in his pockets. He is staring at the ground like he can see through its core, completely calm and unnerved, just like he usually is. And as I watch him, a question pops into my mind - _how much and what_ _are you ready to sacrifice for him?_ If I had a concrete proof, a memory in which I trust, of a universe they speak of, would I abandon my life here for my life there, when the only life I have there is him? Would I leave my family, my friends, my future in the name of love for a man I barely know? I am not sure I want to know the answer to that question since I do not want to be that kind of a person, but I am afraid that I could be.

"Elena?" he calls my name cautiously.

I haven't even realized I have walked up so closely to him, I was too lost in my thoughts. I jerk my head, and he stands up, towering over me as per usual.

"Oh. Hey," I say, pulling myself out of a haze I have been stuck in.

"Are you okay?" He approaches me with a worried expression on his face.

"Yes," I answer, even mustering a smile. "So," I lower myself down on the bench, inviting him to sit by tapping the empty space next to me with a palm of my hand. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

He sits down, exhaling all the ear he was keeping in his lung since the moment he saw me. "A lot of things," he declares, "but some of them take precedence."

"Okay," I press my lips together. "Shoot."

"I was declined financial aid," he says. Shoot was an appropriate word to use, indeed, because his words feel like a bullet - as soon as they leave his mouth, they fall on my skin, digging their way underneath it, piercing through my flesh, and getting stuck in some unidentified area of my body, causing me great pain.

"Who did?" I scoot an inch closer to him on the bench, still leaving more distance between us than my body is accustomed to.

He lets out a strangled laugh before giving me an answer that only drives the bullet further into my flesh. "All of them," he says.

At least now I have identified the bullets location - it is going straight for my heart, and I don't know what to do to stop it.

"I am sure there is something we can do," I say hopelessly.

"Like what?" he challenges me, like he knows those were the only words I could find sitting under my tongue.

"We can file a complaint, we can look for other options.." I mumble.

"Stop it," he says harshly, my well meant rebellion only causing him more pain. "We already did everything that could have been done. Even if there are other options, now is too late to take action. I simply don't fall in the category of people who deserve to be saved. And my brother claims to be an angel from another universe, so I doubt that he has a surprise safety fond waiting for me," he clicks his tongue.

I shudder as words _angel_ and _universe_ come out of his mouth, but as my brain tries to soak them in, like a sponge, they prompt a thought.

"That's it!" I say loudly. "Your brother claims to be an angel who has traveled from another universe, and spent centuries on this planet without aging a day, so there must be something he can do to help."

"And why would he?" he says bitterly, the green of his eyes raging like hundreds of hurricanes at once. "Plus, I don't want his help. College has always been more of your dream than mine, anyway."

I know that no matter what I say now he is going to take it the wrong way. He is going to take my words and turn them into something they are not, because he is angry. Maybe I am the one who had made him apply, but he is the one who agreed to it, not because of me, but because of himself. Because it was his dream, just one he never thought possible of coming true. I feel incredible amount of guilt for planting such a seed in his mind, and anger because he is taking his out on me, which is something I don't deserve. So I decide to leave this conversation alone because I love him enough to lock my pride inside my mouth before it manages to escape.

"Do you believe them?" I ask, not defining _them_ , knowing very well he knows who I am referring to.

"I have no idea."

"Do you remember any of it?"

"Yes," he whispers.

I give him a curious look, my eyes full of hunger for his memories.

"Well, I remember something, I only assume that it is.. _it_."

"What do you remember?"

He turns his head to look at me. "I remember you. A face quite similar to yours, but... different. I remember flying. I remember golden arches above my bed. I remember violence. But most of all, I remember loving you in a very different way than I do now."

And with his last sentence, I am thankful that I do not remember any of it at all.

* * *

 _ **STEFAN'S POV**_

After the first rejection letter came, others followed as well, landing on my doorstep without any trouble. When we came back from our trip, after the dust of our wild conversation has settled down a bit, I found them piled on a small table near the front door where we usually drop the mail and car keys after coming in. I tore into them, hopeful, but each new letter was an exact copy of the previous one. _"Mr. Salvatore, we are sorry to inform you..."_ Those sentences are engraved in my memory now, reminding me of how unlucky I am, which seems very dull and repetitive by now. When the last letter arrived, and I found the very same content inside it, I have decided it is time to let her know our little side project has failed completely.

As I sat in that park, waiting for her, I think I went through most of the motions I am capable of feeling. I was angry, at myself for failing miserably, and at her for placing me in a situation in which I am capable of disappointing both of us equally. Then shame came, and the feeling I am nowhere near good enough for her. Like I do not deserve her, at least not in this lifetime, a lifetime in which my only achievement is staying alive. Like I am a disappointment, for both of us.

Maybe I should accept my brothers story, that I am an angel, because I suck at being human.

When I tell her, she experiences anger as well. But her anger is directed towards them, not towards either of us. She lets go of it quickly, though, and switches to worry. Her eyes become warm, and soft, and I am convinced that the look in them could stop wars. She says it is harmful to allow anger to tag along for too long, but she has no problems with carrying sadness inside of her everywhere she goes.

"Are you angry with me?" I ask.

"Angry?" she roars, confused. "What for?"

"For remembering," I reply, like it wasn't obvious. Maybe the word I should have used was _jealous_.

She presses her lips together, and takes her look away from me. "No," she says, quite sure in her answer.

I guess we remember different things, and that is enough weight to carry to envy one another for things we don't remember.

"Do you believe them?" I ask another question, though I am pretty sure I know an answer to this one.

"No," she says confidentially. "Doesn't mean I am not curious."

"You are?" I ask, surprised by the other half of her answer.

"Yeah, well, despite my better judgment, I can't deny what I feel."

"Which is?"

She looks at me, her brows knitted closely to one another. "Like there is more to it than I am ready to accept."

I nod understandingly, placing my hand on top of hers. She looks down at it, and I can feel the warmth of our bodies mixing, creating a protective shield around us. "Yeah," is all I say, looking away from her, into the dark.

I breathe out, thinking how easier life is knowing that even if I fuck it up in this lifetime, I will get another chance to make it right in the next one.

* * *

With everything that's been going on, being back in school seems ridiculous. Even though I haven't received any acceptance letters yet, all the school work after Spring Break basically doesn't even matter and everyone know that, including the teachers. Few written exams here, few orals there, one or two essays and off we go, far away from this godforsaken place.

I wander through overcrowded schools hallways in search for Caroline whom I haven't seen yet, but instead I find Bonnie, or whatever she claims her name is, storing some books into her locker. All of a sudden, crazy amount of rage possesses my entire being, kind of rage I have never associated with Bonnie before. It takes complete control over my body and pushes it forwards, in her direction.

"Elena!" she squeals when she sees, or feels me walking towards her.

"You. You can help him," I say bitterly, my teeth clenched. I feel like my insides are on fire caused by anger and sorrow and a little bit of madness.

She grabs me by the hand and pulls me aside, shielding our exchange from the curious eyes of gossip hungry people.

"Help who?" she looks into my eyes, trying to calm me down with the warm and worried expression on her face, like she is dealing with a crazy person.

But her question only sets me off. "Stefan," I say his name like a robot, gritting my teeth in the process. "He was denied financial aid, which means he can't continue his education. You can help him, or that boyfriend of yours. You can get him the money."

"We can't just make money appear out of thin air," she frowns, still holding me by the hand, like I am going to fly away if she doesn't keep me firmly nailed to the ground.

"Well, can't you transfer it from one place to another? I am sure there are people who have more money than they can count, and all wee need is enough money for one tuition." I start grasping at straws, the look in my eyes turning into a desperate one.

"That's stealing, Elena. And the last time I checked, it was still a crime," she points out, knowing very well her words will go straight to my conscience.

I am horrified by my words, so I bow my head down.

"Even if there was something we could do, we don't like meddling into your lives. Human law is human law, and it would be very unethical of us to use our abilities to change it the way we see fit."

"You are meddling into our lives! You are here!" I raise my voice, wrenching my hand out of her grip. "Getting him into college is the least you can do! You owe us as much!"

Fire reappears in her eyes, and I don't mean metaphorically. Her pupils are replaced by an actual sparkling reddish flame, making me take a step back.

"We owe you nothing," she says in a surprisingly calm manner. "You are here by your own choice, by your own free will. You are here, trapped in this torturous cycle, because of the decisions you made. Both of you. We want to help you, because we love you, but it is not our job to fulfill all your wishes."

When I don't say anything to that, the flame in her eyes dies down.

"Look, this clearly isn't working, but I think I know what will. Meet me at the parking lot after school," she commands and disappears back into the hallway before I am able to give her my response.

And maybe that is for the best.

* * *

"The Grill?" I cock my eyebrow, my arms already crossed under my chest area. "Strawberry milkshake won't help us solve our problems, Bonnie." No matter how delicious they are.

She rolls her eyes. "Come on," she gets out of the car, and I follow her lead.

We walk into a packed restaurant. I notice Bonnie looking around the place, trying to preserve her concentration.

"You won't find a free table, it is lunch hour," I whisper to her.

"Not looking for a table," she brushes me off. "Ah, there she is!"

Before I am able to react, Bonnie starts moving forward, walking elegantly between all the rushing waiters. I try to catch up with her, but I fail in keeping her pace and almost crash into a young waiter my dad hired only a week before I left for the trip, whose name I can't remember.

"Sorry!" I yell as he tries his best to steady the tray in his hands. If I weren't the bosses daughter, he would probably throw a few curse words at me.

When I finally catch up with her, I see what, or better yet who, we are walking towards.

Daisy has already noticed us walking towards her, so she quickness the procedure of taking the order from her clients.

"Elena and, umm, Elena's friend, how nice to - " Daisy starts cheerfully, but Bonnie cuts her off mid sentence.

"You can drop it, Hypatia, she knows," Bonnie stands before her.

Daisy's eyes grow wide with surprise and interest, "You mean, she remembers?"

I stand behind Bonnie, like a small, scared child that requires protection, peering over her shoulder.

"No. We told them everything. They saw Demonsthenes with his wings spread out," Bonnie says with a hushed tone of voice, not out of secrecy, but out of shame.

And when Daisy looks at her smugly, I can understand why. "Well, wasn't that unwise?" she says before letting an exasperated puff of air out of her lungs. She raises her hand in the air, snaps her fingers and, suddenly, everything stops. The chatter, the movement, all other possible noises and notions of life in the room cease to exist.

"What did you do?" I ask, looking around the room with a horrified expression on my face.

"I froze time. Duh," Daisy answers, as it wasn't already obvious. "Follow me," she starts walking towards the other side of the room.

"You said you don't like to use your abilities to change human law as you see fit, yet the last time I checked we couldn't freeze time," I whisper judgmentally in Bonnie's ear.

She growls at me, "This is different."

We follow Daisy to an empty corner table. All three of us squeeze in, trying to make ourselves comfortable.

"So," Daisy smacks her lips, "I guess you came here for a whole story."

"I am kinda tired of hearing you talk," I groan. "I came here because _she_ drove me here without saying where we were going," I point my finger at Bonnie who is sitting next to me. "And because I have a shitload of questions I would really like an answer to."

Daisy smirks. "Ask away," she leans into the backseat of her chair.

I thought I will have a hard time convincing her to do it my way, but this was fairly easy.

"So, you are also a witch?" I ask nonchalantly, like that question comes out of my mouth daily.

"Obviously," she rolls her eyes, signaling that she is bored already. "My name is Hypatia, and my element is air. If Artemisia here told you anything about the elements, then you would know that air and energy are the most tenacious elements to conquer."

"And why is that?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Because, unlike other elements, they have no shape. If you know something exists, but you can't see it, then you have to create it yourself. Imagine it inside your head. And bending your own imagination to your will is a pretty tricky thing to do."

I remember Bonnie saying we didn't have time to discover my element, but she was torn between air and energy.

"What is the process of discovering an element?"

"Every young witch, or a warlock, receives a mentor who trains and guides them by using various methods. You discover your element by doing those physical and mental challenges which can, sometimes, take years."

"Elena," Bonnie says my name softly, "you are asking very general questions, I could have answered all of them."

"Well, Bonnie," I start speaking through my clenched teeth. "She didn't lie to me my entire life, so I hope you can understand how, at this point, I trust her more than I trust you."

Daisy seems struck by my words, but she doesn't allow her disbelief to hold her back for too long. She gives Bonnie a smug, satisfied look, while a mischievous smirk dances on her lips.

"Which brings me to my next question," I shift my attention back to Daisy. "Bonnie says you were my friend back there, so how come you aren't cooperating with the rest of the gang?"

At first glance, Daisy seems quite uncomfortable with that question, but she soldiers through it. "Oh, I work better solo," she shrugs.

"She can't stand angels," Bonnie adds.

Daisy squints at her. "Well, who could? They are obnoxious tyrants!" she spits out, shifting her attention to me. "You know, she didn't even tell me that they were going after you! She made a pact with the angels without even thinking about including me!" she complains, her voice resembling the voice of a spoiled child.

"I wanted to keep you safe!" Bonnie defends herself. "To protect you. To give you some semblance of a normal life."

"Oh, please," Daisy brushes her off. She has zero understanding for Bonnie's point of view. "500 years here is like a minute back home. When we return, things will be just as we left them."

I look at Bonnie who looks like she has nothing more to say - I guess they had this dispute already, probably more than once.

I catch Daisy looking at me with a soft look in her eyes, like she is about to apologize. "I followed them here. When they finally found a way to locate you, opening a portal was easy. When we landed here, and when they saw me, they were angry. Demonsthenes wanted to strike me, but Artemisia wouldn't let him. She even convinced them to let me stay. She even liked having me there, one of her own, but that was before she became so," she clicks her tongue, " _comfortable_ among angels."

Bonnie turns her head, shielding herself from our looks.

"So, what happened?" I ask, trying to ignore all this drama.

"They were unhappy with me because I refused to play by their rules. I didn't want to follow their plan. It was a very plain plan. All they did was study you, and they studied you for centuries and centuries, trying to comprehend your situation. I wanted to act," she frowns, all of her anger visible in the small triangle between her brows.

"And act you did," Bonnie growls at her.

Daisy's eyes become clear, crystalline. "I made one mistake!"

"You made many mistakes!" Bonnie yells at her, passion cluttering in the corners of her lips. I have never seen her like this before. "Tell her. Tell her what you did."

Daisy gives her a resentful look. "I was only trying to help you. I wanted you to remember. So I gave you all your memories back," she looks down at the table. "And they made you insane. You... you could barely function. Until, finally, you couldn't function at all, and you took your own life. I.. I didn't know humans are so weak. As a punishment, Artemisia sent me back to Ierus."

She lifts her head only to find a perplexed expression on my face. "But I found a way back, and this time, I was smarter. I started giving you your memories back, bit by bit, in the form of dreams."

"What!?" I raise my voice.

"I have a theory that, if we simply incite your memories, everything will come to you with time. So, once or twice a week, I would wait for you to fall asleep to give you a memory from one of your past lives. I really do believe that if you continue remembering your past lives in this universe, you will remember who you really are on your own."

I remember those torturous nights in my bed. I remember my sweaty sheets and drenched clothes, all the tears I shed and headaches that followed - but most of all, I remember being afraid. I remember that eerie feeling that I am going crazy.

"My dreams.." I shake my head, looking at her in disbelief. "You did that to me?"

"This is why I didn't include you in our plan, and this is why I didn't want to bring you here," Bonnie snarls, speaking to her from above. Like years and years of life experience is what sets them apart, what gives Bonnie the power and right to speak to her like that. "You are not only a child, you are selfish. You were angry at your friend for not confiding in you, and you wanted to know why. You want to make her remember so you can bring her to her knees, so you can make her answer to you. Because you can't understand how could she, the only person who should hate the angels as much as you do, fall in love with one of them."

"That's not true!" Daisy yells in despair. "I want to make her remember because she's my best friend! She's my family! After her parents died, I took her in, I took care of her!"

"I am not saying you don't love her, I am saying you think she betrayed you, which made you angry and vengeful. She disappointed you because you thought she will grow up with the same hatred in her heart as you did, but she was too young to remember!"

"How did my parents die?" I interfere before either one of them allows herself a chance to speak.

"The King had them executed," Bonnie claims.

I swallow. "Why!?" I cry out.

"Because he was crazy!" Bonnie answers, slightly annoyed by this conversation.

By the look on Daisy's face I can sense that there's more to the story, but both of us simultaneously decide not to push for it.. this time.

"I..." I start, struggling to find words. "I don't know what to say to either of you. You," I fix my eyes at Bonnie, "who had lied to me my entire life. Or you," I shift my attention to Daisy. "Who basically tortured me with memories I never asked for."

"Elena," Bonnie starts, the tone of her voice doubtful, which means I probably won't like what she has to say to me. "I haven't lied to you your entire life since I have been in it for less that a year. We met at the same time you and Stefan started your love affair, to be precise."

"What?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"Your memories.. well, everyone's memories of me, of us, are fake. They have been planted in your minds as a rouse, so my existence could make sense. The Bennett family has only one child, a son."

I look away from her. I distinctively remember Bonnie ever since we were kids. Her parents remember her, as do mine. My brother had a crush on her. Caroline knows her since childhood as well, as do many other people.

"My profile... the memories I gave you of me are a collection of events you have experienced with other people in some of your past lives."

I look at her angrily, my mouth full of fire I can't wait to spit out. "And you think that makes it okay?" I yell.

The tone of my voice stuns her to silence.

"You know what? This was a mistake," I stand up and, without looking at either of them, make my way out of The Grill.


	30. Chapter 30

If there's something I hate, it is being lied to. Lies are unnecessarily evil, constructed by cowardliness. Truth can be harsh, and hard, but at least it is definite.

I make a quick exit, marching across a packed parking lot, my thoughts blurred by uncontrollable anger.

"Elena!" someone calls my name, and I come to a dead stop. Heavy, glass doors of The Grill fall closed behind Bonnie as she leaves the restaurant with the intention to continue our conversation.

I clench my fists, my sharp fingernails sinking deep into the soft flesh of my palms, like vampires teeth.

"Why do you keep calling me Elena?" I spin around my axis, placing my entire weight on my heels. "You claim I have another name, yet you keep calling me by this one!"

She frowns, visibly annoyed by my behavior. It is funny how, when I look at her now, I can't see my friend anymore. Someone I grew up with, someone who was my shoulder to cry on more times than I would care to admit, my to go person when things were too messy for me to handle on my own. Her face seems so unfamiliar now, like its lines shifted in an opposite direction while I wasn't looking. Her eyes are darker, and her lips scream impostor.

"You don't identify yourself by your real name, you identify yourself by this one. It would only confuse you further, and that is the last thing I want for you," she says honestly, her voice calmer than the look on her face.

I can taste tears in the back of my throat. I inhale, and almost choke on their salty aroma.

"I can't believe you aren't real," I release an unnamed sound, something between a whisper and a pray spoken hoarsely.

She cocks her head to the side, leaning it on her shoulder, clearly confused by my statement. "I am real."

I look at her, suddenly feeling very angry over her very existence. "Bonnie," my nostrils begin to flare. "Not you, Bonnie. Remember, the person you made up so you have an excuse to come close to me?"

She exhales, clearly tired of explaining such simple situations and logical moves to me. "No one is more Bonnie than I am. The memories you have, they aren't fake, they are yours. You have experienced them once before, and the fact you haven't experienced them in this life doesn't lessen their effect, they are clearly still very much dear to you. Because no matter where you live, or how you look like, or what your name is, you are still the same person you have always been. The soul is firm, stable, unchangeable. And our friendship here, it is a friendship we have always had, and everything we have experienced together in this past year has been true."

I look away from her, blinking away tears. To some extent, I know she is right, but I can't let her know that, because none of this is okay. All these lies, and secrets, and pretending. The way they have treated us, as well as the fact that they weren't even planning on telling us the truth. They are asking too much from us in exchange for crumbs. They are asking for our trust, in return for lies and half told stories. So no, I can't let them know any of this makes even remotely any sense to me, even if I at one point do have a change of heart.

"I am here because I love you," she says in the midst of my thinking process. "I know you can't see that right now, or possibly understand it, but while I may not be the friend you remember, I am your friend nevertheless. You are in this situation because you felt like you can't confide in me, or in any of us. You are in this situation because it was your only option, your only chance for happiness, no matter how remote. And I am not judging you, or blaming your for anything, but I am here to bring my friend back home where she belongs. If you were happy here, I would leave you be. But you are not, and you can't possibly imagine what kind of torture awaits you if we don't find a way to stop it."

I turn my head to look at her, and I notice her eyes glistening, full of tears. I don't have a lot of memories of Bonnie crying. Actually, I don't think I have any at all, so this is new to me. She seems.. vulnerable.

"I.." I start, unable to make the words leave my mouth in an understandable manner. "I need time," I finally manage to arrange a sentence.

She is already ready to compose herself, and nods at me understandingly.

* * *

Since I drove with Bonnie, I have to walk all the way back to school to pick up my car. I only now realize how stupid of an idea that was, but thankfully we live in a town the size of a shoe box, which makes the distance durable.

When I finally reach my house, I find the front doors locked, which means nobody is home. I wasn't prepared for this, since my mom is usually home when I come back from school, so I lose more time fumbling around my bag, searching for my keys. After a minute or two, I am finally inside the house, and as soon as I step in something makes a crunchy sound underneath my shoes. I look down only to see a pile of white envelopes on the floor. No one was here to take over the mail from the mailman, which means mom had to leave the house pretty early. I pick up the envelopes from the floor, and just as I am about to place them on the hallway table I notice my name on one of them. There's a seal on the upper right corner - Northwestern University. I grab the envelope and I turn it around, trying to pretend I have never seen the words written on its surface.

My mind is humming.

I don't really have a choice, do I? I have to open it sooner or later, and what is the point in waiting for later?

I take the top envelope and, after placing the rest of the mail on the table, I rip into its insides, pulling a thin, white sheet of paper out of its folds like I am withdrawing an essential organ out of a convulsing human body.

I take a deep, hopefully calming breath before unfolding the sheet, skimming over their basic information on top and laying my eyes on the first written sentence.

I bite my lower lip. I can feel blood in my mouth.

" _Dear Ms. Gilbert, we would like to offer you a warm welcome to Northwestern University!_ "

* * *

"Elena?" he speaks my name gently, his feet rushing down from his bed in search for firm, solid ground. "What are you doing here?" he crumbles the sheets as he pulls himself up, leaving a real mess behind himself.

Somehow, I ended up at his house, like I always do when things become too much. There is an old saying, _'All roads lead to Rome'._ Well, he is my Rome.

He steps closer to me, erasing the distance between our bodies, like no one ever explained the concept of personal space to him. "Did something happen? Are you okay?" he places his palm on my cheek, caressing my skin with the tip of his thumb. "You want to talk about it?"

I look up at him, and our eyes finally meet, allowing him something he had tried to achieve ever since I stepped into the room.

"No," I shake my head, pressing my cheek deeper into the soft skin of his palm. "I'm done talking," I say under my breath before pressing my lips against his, hard.

He stands there, stunned, because he knows this is no time for us to be kissing. This is a dangerous time for us to be even remotely affectionate, since neither of us knows what events our actions or acts of love may cause. A rift in time? A portal to another world? Or a sheer power of a simple memory?

He is afraid, and cautious. But he is also a 17 year old boy. Worse, he is a 17 year old boy in love.

He kisses me back, only encouraging me to kiss him deeper, with more passion, more emotion, more longing. His hands find their way to my hips, and he pulls my body closer to his, all ten fingers of his hands still wrapped around my bones. I lift my hands with the full intention of allowing them to sneak underneath his clothes.

I used to wonder how did my socially awkward, comic loving boyfriend get so ripped, until he had finally told me stories of all the crazy challenging summer jobs he had to take in order to save some money.

I catch the hem of his shirts between my fingertips, slowly lifting the shirt up his torso until he finally disposes it in one single motion before going back for my lips, like a man in the middle of the dessert, dying of thirst. I arch my back and my upper body crashes into his. He puts his arms around me, enveloping me in a hug, his muscles pulsating against my rib cage.

Intimacy shouldn't be used like this. Intimacy shouldn't be used as a weapon, or for deception, or as a mean to postpone or avoid much needed conversations. But there comes a time when words become too much, or when you use them all up and have to find other ways to express yourself.

And I guess if I had to choose another way to speak to him, other than by using words, then this would be the way.

We begin to stumble backwards, as if someone pulled the earth from under our feet, weak and unsteady. I fall on his messy bed and pull him with me, my body accepting the entire weight of his.

He buries his face into my hair, kissing my neck, my veins pulsing with blood and sensation. His fingers wander under my shirt, across my stomach over to my breasts. I moan into his ear, pretty loudly.

I can't believe we haven't had a lot of moments like this before everything started going downhill. I feel like I am stuck in some mediocre teen drama, unable to unlock a happy ending.

Well, if we are unable to get a happy ending, then I am going to enjoy all the happy moments we are able to get our hands on.

* * *

 _ **STEFAN'S POV**_

I watch her while she sleeps in my bed, tangled in my sheets that are, as a result, going to smell like her for days to come, making it unable for me to concentrate on anything. Her hair is shielding her face - how lucky am I to have it memorized? Every line, every curve, every wrinkle. As well as the tone of her voice and softness of her skin.

I slowly emerge from the bed, trying not to wake her up as its insides crank, protesting my escape. I put my sweatpants on, and disappear out of my room. I head towards the kitchen for a glass of water.

When I walk in, my brother is sitting by the table in silence, and I wonder has he heard anything. Neither one of us says a word as I reach for a bottle of water and fill up an empty glass. Silence here is almost hazardous.

"So," I start, turning around to face him. "What's the plan? For getting back home?"

I catch him off guard, which allows me to take a sneak of an expression of surprise on his face. "You suddenly believe us?"

I decide to answer by asking him another question. "Have you ever been in love?"

"I...," he starts, surprise still residing on his face. "I don't know."

Which means he hasn't, since it is a feeling you are not likely to miss.

"Well," I set an empty glass down on the counter, and join him by the table, choosing a chair across from him. "When you love someone, when you are in love with someone, you do everything in your power to keep that person in your life. This fall, Elena will be leaving for school, and I will be staying here," I finally say out loud something neither me nor her had guts to say for a very long time now.

"And you are afraid you are going to lose her when that happens?" he inquiries.

I look him in the eyes, noticing a curious expression on his face, like he is trying to make some sense of human emotions. "I have been afraid I am going to lose her since the day she walked into my life. But if your story is true, if we are cursed to live one unhappy life after another on this planet, then that is something I am more afraid of. I am more afraid of making her unhappy, or crazy, or desperate than I am afraid of living without her. So I want to cover all the fields. If there is no happy ending for us in this universe, then maybe there is in another one."

"Brother," Damon gasps, "Your words make no sense. You escaped our world for this one to be with her. And if it weren't for the curse, you probably would have lived a very happy life here."

Maybe we could have. Maybe the curse was written in the stars as well. Whatever it may be, there is no happiness for us here either.

I furrow my brows, pulling the lines of my face up, like I am my own marionette, drawing a scowled expression on my face. "Maybe we never should have left, we should have stayed there and tried to change things. I am sure we weren't the only ones in a situation like that. Angels have probably been falling for witches, and the other way around, since the dawn of time. And in that world, maybe the laws you told us about made sense, but outdated laws have no place in war torn world, especially not when the only reason the war had started in the first place was because of those laws."

Damon smirks, "Speaking like a true leader."

"I am not a leader. If our father is dead, then you are the leader. Which means you have a power to change things," I clench my jaw, swallowing down the bitter taste in my mouth. "Love is a terrible thing to hate."

"I know you don't remember our world, and by now I am not sure there is anything to remember. By the time we decided to leave, there wasn't much left."

"Then you build a new world. A better one."

"I am not much of a builder, or a ruler, or a visionary. That has always been you. And everyone knew you would make a better leader than me, even our father. But you and everyone else had this misfortune of you being a second born son, so they were stuck with me. When father was killed, I was supposed to take over, but I didn't know how. You would have known how. So I left them, I left our people in the middle of a war in order to find you. We all did, for our own selfish reasons. Aikaterine because she was in love with you, Alexandra because she was your friend, and me... because I needed my brother back."

"Our father was killed?" I ask with eyes wide open.

Damon nods, without saying a word, so I do it for him.

"By whom?"

He stays quiet for a moment, trying to decide should I know the truth or no, and I stay unaware of his decision until he finally speaks up. "Our mother. After he made me find you, after I discovered... when I reported the results the curse had on you back to him, she had overheard the conversation and... and she had killed him in his sleep."

"What - " I swallow all the fear, lived and potential, before finishing that sentence. "What did you do?"

"Artemisia helped me cover it up, made it look like a... a suicide. Everyone were told that grief destroyed him, that your betrayal was too much to bare. I had to protect her."

"I understand," I nod, feeling guilty. My actions had started all of this. My betrayal made my father resolve to unspeakable actions, and those actions made my mother hate him so much that she had wished him dead. My selfish actions had destroyed my family.

"It wasn't your fault," Damon speaks up suddenly, a frown visible on his face.

I move away from the table. "Can you read my mind?"

"No," Damon replies, an amused smile dancing on his lips. "Not in a literal sense of the word. But you are my brother, which makes me aware of your thoughts. Our parents marriage was like most of angelic marriages, determined by birth. Our father was raised to be a King, and our mother was raised to be a King's wife, no matter who the King actually is. She gave him two sons - one he had kept for himself, while the other one he had left for her to keep. I was raised in battle, you were raised in love. You didn't make our mother kill our father, he did it himself by taking you away from her."

"What about our father here, in this world? Was he ever real?" I say with a hushed tone of voice, embarrassed to still care for a man like him.

"He was very much real," Damon nods. "In this world, you never had much luck with family. But he was never my father. I was never here."

I squint at him. "What do you mean?"

"I never die, and I am not reborn like you are. I age by angelic rules, like both of us would if we were back on Ierus. The memories you have of me, they are the memories I gave you inspired by our childhood back home."

I bow my head down, kinda shocked by this revelation, and at the same time baffled by the fact I ever expected to hear any other reasoning.

"You were never alone. I was always there, watching over you," he adds.

"Can we please continue this conversation some other time? I..." I whisper, "This is too much to take in one sitting."

"Sure," he agrees.

When I leave the kitchen, I head straight towards my room to check up on Elena, my head heavy with thoughts. But when I reach my bedroom, I find that she is no longer there.

* * *

When I wake up in his house, in his room, in his bed, he is no longer laying next to me, and the reality of it hits me deep, like an another slash of knife at an already open wound. When my anxiety kicks in, I find my clothes and run out of there as fast as I possibly can. I know that leaving without saying anything was a bitchy move - when I woke up there, gravity of my mistakes started pressing at me, stealing my ability to breathe.

I drive towards The Grill, full of hope that no family members of mine will be there. When I finally come inside, I find the inside of a restaurant exactly as I expected I would, half empty and with no family members around. I see Daisy sitting by the bar with a frown on her face, doing a crossword puzzle. I storm towards her, yet she doesn't react, even though I am pretty confident she had seen me come in.

"I need to talk to you," I say - more like I huff and puff - once I finally reach her.

"Yes, you do," she says without taking her eyes off the puzzle. "Sit," she orders me.

"Not here," I reply through my teeth.

"Yes, here," she says calmly, almost playfully. "Don't worry, no one is going to hear us," she looks up at me with a mischievous look. "I'll make sure of that," she winks.

I sigh, but I pull out a stool to sit right next to her.

She closes her crossword, and throws it on the other side of the bar. "So, where do you want to start?" she asks excitedly, like we are just two teenage girls exchanging secrets and stories about boys.

"I want to know what happened to my parents. How did they die?"

She takes her eyes off of me and looks into the distance. At first I think she is just trying to be dramatic, but once she starts talking I can sense real sadness in her voice. "Our parents, yours and mine, have been friends since they were really, really young. Younger than we are now. They were sick and tired of how angels were treating the witches and other species in the land, like they are better than us when, in reality, they wouldn't be able to survive without us. They have built their Kingdom on tyranny and fear because we have let them. They started dreaming about the new world order where each species is equally represented and, soon, they gathered a large group of similar minded people around them. The word started spreading, and angels have heard about it as well, but they were too cautious and too afraid to discard those rumors as silly village talk - they were afraid such talks could spark a rebellion. They found the group, and the King had them executed, every single one of them."

I swallow, horrified by this cruelty. "How many?"

"Around 60 people. More than 30 of them were witches. Artemisia's cousin took us in and raised us as her own. She became my mentor, and later on Artemisia became yours."

"And I - " I try to continue, by it is hard for me to find my voice after such a revelation. "I fell in love with an angel after his father had my parents killed?" I ask, doubting myself, my actions... my love.

"Ha!" she says victoriously. "Exactly. That is what I could never understand. How could you? How could you knowingly fall for him after everything that has happened? After years and years of staying up late and plotting our revenge, about starting a new rebellion, a real one. After you disappeared with him, I thought that he had tricked you. Manipulated you. Hid his identity from you. But he never did. You fell in love with the son of your parents murderer," she grits her teeth. When she notices how harsh the tone of voice is becoming, she bows her head down in shame. "Artemisia had tried to justify your actions to me. How you were too young to remember your parents, and their deaths. How, for you, cruelty of angels is just a myth, a scary story. I was older, I remember... I remember when they broke into our home and took my parents away. I remember how they pushed my mother on her knees and dragged her out of the house like she was some wild animal that needs to be sedated. I also remember the look one of the angels had given me, like he would gladly do the same to me if those were his orders. His sneer kept me up at night for months to come. But you were just a toddler, sleeping in your crib when they came for your parents. And our plots, they were just a game to you, an adventure you didn't have to close your eyes to conjure. While I was planning a rebellion, you were telling yourself a bedtime story."

I don't know what to say. Should I apologize for not growing up vengeful and bitter?

"I am afraid," I whisper.

She gives me a curious look. "Afraid of what?" she tilts her head to the side.

"Of your story. I am afraid that it is true. But more than anything, I am afraid of the way I feel. I am 17 years old, I shouldn't love someone this much. People have relationships in high school, and they end them all the time. Do they all feel like this? Like they are leaving parts of them scattered around? Because if I leave every part of me that craves for him behind, I am afraid I won't have much left. But if your story is true, and we somehow survive this, then a life of misery awaits us. And how am I supposed to continue loving him knowing his very existence will bring me pain and suffering? But then again, how do I stop?" my eyes start filling with tears, and her face adapts an expression of panic. She is not equipped for dealing with these kinds of situations.

"I - " she starts, shaking her head bewilderingly. "Do you believe us? Do you believe in your origins?"

Now it is my turn to shake my head. "I don't know. I can feel that something is off, but your story is too crazy to believe. The truth behind it is too hard to accept, and I...," my throat contracts, disabling me from finishing that sentence.

She pulls her lips into a thin line, desperation between us growing.

"Tell me more," I say. "Tell me more of our lives here."

"There is nothing more to say that hasn't already been said to you," she says. "You are born, you meet, you fall in love. Sometimes mundane life catches up with you and you die before the curse starts ruining your life. Other times, you live a long, strained life."

"Are we ever happy?"

She nods. "Yes, actually. You experience a lot of happy moments, and I guess your love is what keeps you from giving it all up. Ironically, your love is what is causing this in the first place. And it is never him who suffers, it is always you. It is always you who is tortured by memories and vivid dreams, and it is always you who goes crazy from the lack of understanding them."

He suffers as well. He suffers by having to stand by and watch me deteriorate, completely helpless and unable to stop it from happening. That is his curse.

"Didn't you say that you were the one who gave me dreams, and only in this lifetime?" I frown.

"No," she shakes her head, denying it. "I simply amplified them. Made them come sooner. Made them more intense."

"Oh," I say. I must have misunderstood her before. "They also said something about us not being able to have children - why is that?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Biologically speaking, you should be able to since, technically, you are human. Maybe it is a part of the curse as well."

"Was there ever a lifetime in which we don't end up together?"

She shakes her head again. "No. Even in the lifetimes in which you have died before the curse took its toll, you have either died together, or very close to one another, time wise. In other lifetimes, you were together until the very end. There was this one lifetime, though..." she bites her lip, like she is only now remembering it.

"Yes?" I lean closer to her.

"Well, after you fell in love, you were apart for a very long time because he had to go in a battle, and during the time you were alone you still had your dreams, but they were clear. You understood them, accepted them, almost even enjoyed them, and you dreamed up memories you haven't managed to dream ever before, or ever again. When he came back, though, everything changed and your dreams started having a torturous effect on you. Like his presence had obstructed your process."

I have no idea what to make of that, it sounds like a coincidence, and exception to the rule, not something meaningful.

"Do you have an idea how to return back home?"

She gives me a confused look. "Well, when we are ready to go, all Artemisia needs to do is conjure up a portal, and off we go. We don't know how to bring you with us, mainly because we haven't tracked down your bodies - "

"Our bodies?" I ask, cutting her off mid sentence.

"Yeah, your real bodies, bodies of origin, bodies your mothers gave birth to back at Ierus," she explains, slowly catching my confused look. "You are a witch, and he is an angel, you can't possibly think human anatomy can serve as a substitute for species that powerful. Granted, you both look pretty similar to your human equivalents," she nods, examining my features like she is seeing me for the very first time.

"What - " my breath gets stuck in my throat, grinding against its walls. "What happened to our bodies?"

"They are stuck somewhere in the black matter, between the universes. When the warlock did the curse, your souls got severed from your physical beings, and you were reborn. Every time after you die, your souls wander off in search for new bodies. If we had your bodies, your souls could go back to them after yet get free of these bodies, or we could at least force their way back."

"So our bodies are lost forever?" I ask in shock.

"No, it is simply hard to locate them. Black matter is big, but it is not infinite unlike dark hole. Nothing is lost until it goes into the dark hole."

"And how do you know our bodies aren't in the dark hole?" I feel so stupid just for asking that question out loud.

"Because we can still feel you, we simply can't locate you," she gives a vague answer. "Personally, I think that if you actually remembered your origins, you would have a better connection with your body as well, and then we could locate it easier. Which is why I tried to amplify your dreams."

As those words leave her mouth, an idea forms in my mind.

And, judging by her next question, I guess it is visible on my face as well.

"What's wrong?" she asks worriedly.

"I think I know how to make that happen."


	31. Chapter 31

_**STEFAN'S POV**_

I feel like my life is happening everywhere around me, instead of inside me, where it belongs. I am sitting on the edge of our run down sofa, which wasn't always this shade of beige, but has been a part of our living room for as long as I can remember, back when mom was alive and dad knew how to stop after two beers. Damon and me were always on the floor, building blocks or watching cartoons or doing our homework, while she was sprawled across this very couch, watching over her boys. I remember how her body would twitch in fear whenever dad would walk back into the house - she would jolt into a sitting position, ready to stretch her tiny body full of sharp bones over us, because he was mean even before he had become a mean drunk. Now I wonder is that memory of her real, or is it something Damon decided I should have?

"Did she at least say why she wants all of us here?" Katherine groans from the other side of the couch, looking at me through her soft, bouncy curls. She can make herself look innocent and sweet, like angels you can find in children's books, but if you look deep and careful into her eyes you can notice she had seen too many ugly things to remain innocent and sweet. Nevertheless, she is very beautiful, and recently all I can think about when I look at her is how, in some other life where I made different choices, she would have been my wife. And I wonder, would I have loved her to satisfy at least a small bit of my needs, enough for a somewhat happy life? And I don't like to wonder, not because I am betraying the woman that I actually love, but because I fear that if I knew that there is at least a small chance of that happening, I would take it without giving it a second thought.

"No," I say, pushing my body deeper into the couch, trying to cram myself into a tiny hole between the cushions.

She frowns, but only several seconds after the unsavory action her eyes grow larger, and I can feel the temperature of her entire body change in an instant as an indicator of her sudden mood swing. "Do you think it's possible she has found a way for you to remember so we can finally go home?" she asks optimistically, allowing herself to indulge in the dreamlike scenario.

"Oh, dear," Lexi squeals, mortified. "I hope not."

Lexi has grown quite fond of the human world. In the beginning, she liked it better because it was something new and different, more fascinating than the same old routine she has gotten used to back home. However, I think she is slowly realizing that every species and every universe, no matter how different they may seem to an uneducated observer, have similar problems and misunderstandings. One world's utopia is another one's definition of hell.

I catch the look on Katherine's face with the corner of my eye.

"You - " she points at Lexi, mortified by her reaction. "Human lover!" she shrieks.

Lexi rolls her eyes and shakes her head, used to Katherine's dramatic outbursts by now. She doesn't find _"human lover"_ to be an insult, anyway.

The entire scene would be very entertaining if only the normalcy of it didn't make me feel sick to my stomach. I have a feeling that something disastrous is about to happen, and I have had that feeling ever since the moment Elena called me and asked me to gather everyone in the living room. You know that moment, in the horror movie, when a person realizes they have fucked up gravely by yelling _"is anyone there"_ , and that they are about to die? Right now, that person is me - I am sitting on my couch, paralyzed, waiting for the killer to finish me off.

"Whatever it is," Damon walks into the room, his shoulders slouched underneath his black, leather jacket, "It's important if she wanted all of us here."

 _"Even me"_ stays hanging in the air, even though we all know he had meant it.

I can feel his eyes on me. He knows that something is up, and that it will probably end up very badly for me.

The only thing I ask for is for it to be over as soon as possible.

In that moment our front door fly wide open, hitting the wall, and with a running step Elena enters the room, like she had heard my prayers. Her eyes fall directly on me, and the intensity of her look is heavier than her. She looks a bit uncomfortable, but mostly worried, which is how I know that she will break my heart quickly.

Daisy walks into my living room, which catches me off guard, and I furrow my brows as soon as my eyes fall on her tiny face. There is something off with her, and I wonder did I have this feeling about her in another universe as well. When she sees me looking at her with a disappointed look on my face, she smiles at me tauntingly, letting me know that she knows something I don't. She knows I don't like the idea of her knowing Elena's secrets, especially when I'm unaware of them.

"Well," Katherine urges her, "What is it? Speak!"

In some other situation, Elena would react negatively to her authoritative tone of voice. But in this situation she can't seem to take her eyes off of me.

She swallows. "I think I have found a way to make us remember."

Lexi gasps, Katherine squeals, Daisy's smile deepens, and Damon stays still.

And me? The moment has finally come for me. The killer walks into the room and splits my head open with an axe.

* * *

If it weren't for the heartbroken look in his eyes, I wouldn't have gone as quickly over my story as I did. Like he knows. How can he possibly know?

I tell them about all the books I have read, even though I'm pretty sure they know if our theories are true or false better than we do. Judging by the looks on their faces, they are as close to being true as possible. I tell them about the conversation I had with Daisy, and how the two are connected. They have mixed reactions. Stefan and Damon are completely and utterly still, Lexi is frowning, probably trying to find a hole in my plot, while Katherine is jumping from joy. Once I finally come to the conclusion, I find myself unable to speak out of fear Stefan will fall apart into atoms and stardust which made him who he is and float away from me so he doesn't have to hear me say what I'm about to say.

"So!?" Katherine urges me to continue. "What's the final conclusion!?"

I swallow, giving Stefan an apologetic look, but he refuses to acknowledge my pity.

"Well," I start, trying my best to hold back tears, "There is only one thing that has stayed the same during all the lives we have lived and all the lifetimes we have been granted. One thing that has never changed, or failed to play out, no matter what..."

"For the love of everything that is holy!" Katherine shouts when she notices me stalling. "Say it already!"

I keep my eyes on Stefan. "Us," I whisper, cocking my head to the side. I see him catch his breath in the middle of his throat, his apple vibrating under pressure like he is trying to suffocate himself now that he had heard me say the words he has been afraid of hearing all this time.

"Us?" Katherine spits out, failing to understand the true meaning behind my words. "What kind of a shitty, vague answer is that!?"

I make a step forward towards him, because I know he won't budge. "No matter what was happening around us - war, disease, death - we would always find our way back to each other, and we would never give up on the idea of spending our lives together." When he bows his head down I make several steps forward, cheating in a game I wasn't even aware I was playing up until now, before I finally reach him and place my body directly in front of his. Our bodies are so close to one another, I can feel his energy vibrating in the air around us, which means I can also feel the unbearable amount of sadness he is experiencing at the moment. And all I can think about is where does it all fit? Human bodies should have been made bigger from the inside if we are meant to compartmentalize such enormous amounts of feelings at once. "It's us," I laugh hysterically. "All of this is happening because of us. Because of our selfishness, our love, our undying need for one another - we are destroying ourselves. It's a perfect punishment..." I cackle, reaching for his limp hands, "We can't be free as long as we are together, and our only wish is to be together." We keep canceling each other out. When we are together, our song is so loud, playing at the highest volume. When we are apart, though, back singers can be heard as well. And, in this case, back singers are our memories, shouting in the back of our minds.

Silence falls over us. No one has anything to say, not even Katherine, and especially not him. Damon stands still, like he knew this is coming, which makes me wonder is he in touch with Stefan's emotions as much as I am, or maybe even more? The idea of him knowing Stefan better makes me incredibly jealous, and sorrowful.

"What do you propose?" Lexi asks - always so pragmatic - when no one else has enough courage to do so.

I don't propose anything. I would rather have the ground open and swallow me whole this very moment. I would rather try to will myself to remember until my brain explodes into million bloody pieces and I drop dead in place.

I squeeze Stefan's hands with my fingers and he lifts his head up. He is hiding tears behind those beautiful green orbs of his, and I wonder where does he get the strength from? After everything he has been through during this lifetime, where does he derive the power to continue standing on his feet after I kick him in the shin from?

"You can say it," he squeezes my hands back, and we keep exchanging squeezes for a while, like we are exchanging turns - which one of us gets the sinful luxury of ruining this? Him, who is surrounded by ruins, or me, who has been shielded from them her entire life? He gives me one last squeeze and I realize I have no more squeezes left to give, and with that realization words start bubbling in my lungs or wherever the hell words are made.

"I propose we go our separate ways," I say, afraid my words sound harsher than I have meant them to sound. Is there a way for those words not to sound harsh, though?

He breathes out, a stale breath he has been holding in for hours already, breath full of fear, and disappointments, and sorrow, and million short stories under the lines of _why-can-it-never-go-my-way_?

"Oh, come on," I try to sound playful, but my voice is shaking like a small child in the middle of an ice storm, drenched in cold rainy water. "Out of all the universes, out of all the lifetimes, there had to be one where we don't end up together. This one just happens to be it."

"And if you're wrong?" he asks, taking his turn back without a squeeze.

"If I'm wrong, I'll see you in another life. If I'm not wrong, I'll see you in this one. It's a win-win situation," I force a smile, but it cuts through the edges of my lips and my skin starts to crack until there's none of it left on my face.

Are my lies better visible while I stand unveiled like this?

* * *

 ** _FIVE YEARS LATER_**

"Honestly, Elena," Caroline starts all knowingly, "It's been two years since you have last been on a date. Probably more than five since you have last fucked someone!"

I make a mortified facial expression, throwing one of my bed pillows on the opposite side of the room, in the direction of the chair she's sitting on in a Buddha-like position. The pillow falls in front of her, and she cocks her eyebrow at me, little miss prim and proper.

"Seriously," she draws, "I understand that you and _what's his face_ had an epic romance back in high school, and I respect that, I really do." _What's his face_ is her nickname for Stefan. I never asked her to make up a nickname for him, but I guess a good friend knows you don't want to hear your ex's name in every other conversation your share. And we do seem to mention him a in a lot of our conversations since she seems to think he's the root of every single problem in my life and we keep coming back to him every time we talk about boys, which is often. Our situation is different and more complicated than I can share with her, or anyone else, but that doesn't mean hearing his name didn't hurt for a long time after we left Mystic Falls. "It's a high time to move on, though," she says, somewhat pitiful.

I ignore the sound of her voice and roll over to my back, reaching for the book that is resting on the edge of my desk. "And I will, when the time comes, and when the right guy comes along," I say my usual lie. "Now, - "

"You have to concentrate on your studies, I know," she interrupts me mid sentence, repeating my usual mantra. "And then you're going to concentrate on finding a job, then on your career, and so on. And then, when you realize there's no right guy, that there are several less wrong one's roaming around, it's going to be too late because those less wrong one's will be taken by girls who weren't waiting, but chasing."

Okay, I do admit going celibate wasn't the plan the day I told Stefan it's time for us to go our own separate ways. I knew I'm going to end up going back to him sooner or later, but if it happens later rather than sooner I wasn't ready to spend the rest of my life alone. I didn't know how long it would take for me to start remembering, so when I did start remembering things, places and faces I was rather stunned. I don't know if I remember everything yet, but I do know I remember enough, and a witch from another universe isn't the best dating material.

"Plus, you have no idea what he's doing back in Mystic Falls. Or better yet, who."

I haven't seen or spoken to Stefan since that day. We decided it's best that way, both for our emotional state and for this little experiment we're conducting. I do talk to Alexandra often, and she's always careful in approaching the topic, but she also makes sure to keep me up to date with his state of mind. I often wonder does she do the same for him. She has never mentioned him seeing anyone, but then again, even if he did, she would probably never say anything about it to me. Artemisia and Hypatia, on the other hand, speak of him only when it's necessary. When I started remembering my other life, our life on Ierus, they have helped me with the entire process. It wasn't easy on my human mind to accept that this is not my life, and that this is not my home, and that my family and friends belong to some made up version of me. Elena Gilbert doesn't exist - if, at this moment in time, I made a choice to go back to Ierus, every memory with every human I came in contact with would cease to exist. Miranda and Grayson Gilbert would be proud parents of their only child, Jeremy, and Caroline would have had all those adventures with some others girls with different faces and different names. And realizing that, while remembering all of these different memories from my real life, was overwhelming, heartbreaking and depressing. It took a lot of time and a lot of tears for me to come to terms with who I really am. After some time, in my mind, Bonnie stopped being Bonnie and became Artemisia, just like Stefan became Cleon. I remembered how I felt when I met him - I was both afraid and thrilled. He was handsome and forbidden, kind and formidable, loved for who he is and hated for what he is. He was someone I should have hated simply because he was an angel and, yet, I fell in love with his soft skin, golden curls, joyful eyes and poetic soul.

Elena will always be a part of me, just like every other girl in whose shoes I have walked on this planet will always be a part of me, but they will never be me, and I will never find a home in them. In a way, they're what's keeping me from being with the man I love.

"Care, as much as I appreciate your two cents, some of us have to actually finish their studies to make something of themselves," I tease.

Two years in Caroline decided college is not really her thing, so she dropped out and started her own fashion brand. Her travels often lead her to me, for which I'm always grateful because sometimes I have a feeling I will miss her the most when we leave. I wish I could take her with us, it would probably be an awfully good adventure for her. I hope she will have a good and satisfying life, and even though she will never remember me, I will always remember her.

"Fine, fine," she rolls her eyes, standing up from the round, yellow plastic chair. "You will remember our conversations when you are old, gray and alone, Elena," she gives me a look I know all too well. "Kisses," she blows me a kiss, and starts towards the door. "See you soon!"

Once she's gone, I put the book back on the table and pick up my phone to text Alexandra. She enjoys texting, she says it's such a fun human habit. But before I even manage to open a text, there's a knock on the door.

It's probably Caroline, she always forgets something, so I head towards the door to open it - I'm surprised when I don't find Caroline on the other side of the door, but Artemisia.

There has to be a good reason for her to be here. She opens her mouth to speak, and the words come out of her throat in a hurry - "It's time."


	32. Chapter 32

_**STEFAN'S POV**_

There's a time hole in the middle of my living room. I have seen a time hole only once in my life before today - what feels like both many, many years ago and only several minutes ago - and it looked nothing like the one I'm currently staring into. The one I jumped into alongside Elpis was calm and swirly and silver, while this one is stormy and copper and full of rage, like someone wronged it and now it's back to execute its vengeance.

It appeared out of nowhere. I was sitting on my usual place on the sofa, Aikaterine was curled up on Demonsthenes' armchair and Alexandra was sprawled across the floor, near to where the hole opened up. She's lucky she wasn't swallowed alive. They were trying to elucidate one of my earliest memories of Ierus to me, one I would hardly remember clearly even if there weren't one too many people living inside my head, when Alexandra screamed and rolled away from her resting place. I, naturally, flew in her direction, pulling her into my protective embrace and rolling further away from the widening hole. When I realized my friend is completely fine, I looked into Aikaterine's direction to make sure she's in the safe distance from the hole - she was already staring at me, her brows furrowed, and her long and loud huff made me wince. Artemisia entered the room with a running step, followed by my brother whose breath was quick and heavy. She had stared into the hole for several seconds before unsealing her lips, feigning complete and utter calmness, "It's time for Elpis to come home. I'll bring her back. Alone." I don't know if the last part was for me or my brother or both, but before either one of us was able to complain she disappeared with a quick snap of her fingers and my brother cursed under his breath and stormed off into the room he came from, the sound of his fist meeting the wall echoing through the house. I always knew my brother was possessive and protective, often jealous and selfish, yet I've never seen him like this before. Then again, I've never seen my brother in a relationship before, and maybe this is the reason why. When he's with her he's like a puppy - good and docile and warm, and when she's away he turns into a wolf, unable to control himself and his behavior. Like a baby animal unable to survive on its own, angry at its mother for abandoning it, even if it's for a couple of hours. When she comes back she will heal his knuckles and whisper something into his ear which will make him apologize for at least hundred of times in the following 24 hours to everyone he crosses paths with. She brings something out of him and I don't know would I describe it as something good or bad, or maybe something in between.

"Well," Alexandra stands up, peering into the hole. "Goodbye Earth, hello Ierus," she exhales.

"You don't sound as disappointed as one would expect," Aikaterine notes.

"Hmm," Alexandra hums before shrugging it off.

I understand her - these last couple of years have been about waiting for something that may or may never come. We already went home for thousands of times in our heads, and we spent our lives in this living room for an equal amount of time.

"I am desperate for some tea," she says after her short lived fascination with the time hole ends. "If anyone wants to join me, I'll be in the kitchen."

When I make sure that she's really gone and out of earshot, I turn to Aikaterine. "Are you okay?" I ask worriedly.

She huffs. "Yeah. No thanks to you, though," she raises her eyebrow at me, giving me one of her meaningful looks.

"Look, I'm sorry," I scratch the back of my head with the tips of my fingers. "I didn't want Alexandra to get the wrong impression," I confess.

Her pouting look turns into a cheery one. "Oh," she says gleefully, standing up. She is beautiful in a way no creature should be beautiful. Her eyes are the perfect shade of brown, the way she moves her mouth reminds me of most graceful dance moves, and her hair is so silky I sometimes get an urge to burrow my face into her curls.

She moves closer to me, leaving enough space between our bodies to feign decency. "And what impression would that be?" she teases.

Few years ago, there was a moment between her and me, back when my memories started pouring back in heavily. Well, several moments. I remembered almost every moment Elpis and me shared. I remembered her gentle voice, soft skin, warm eyes, the dreams she had and the exact moment she shared them with me. She always wore her hair up, one braid tucked under the other, so I remember my surprise when she untangled them in front of me for the first time and revealed her long, wavy carpet which reached under her buttocks. I remembered all the ways in which she was similar to Elena, and all the ways in which she was different, and all the ways in which I loved them both. And all that love made me angry - I was angry because she got to leave and live, and I had to stay and wait. I was so lonely, and I needed her so badly, while she was somewhere far away, enjoying herself with some other people whom I hated simply because they had a pleasure of being in her company. I hated her as well, for choosing to leave, even though deep down I knew it wasn't really a choice, it was a necessity.

But Aikaterine was there, and she was familiar and beautiful and I wanted her close to me, like she used to be - when all the memories started coming back to me, so did memories of her, and she was always so graceful and strong, yet so insecure and cautious. She knew her worth, yet she was afraid others aren't aware of her and how much she can accomplish. She was easy to talk to, and easy to share with because, in the end of the day, I knew we have no future together. Every new memory of Elpis that came back to me only confirmed my thoughts further, and it became very clear to me very soon that I will never love another being as much as I love her. The time we spent together did create few awkward moments between Aikaterine and me taking in consideration my sentimentality and loneliness aren't a good mix. Nothing happened between us, but I can't say I didn't let my thoughts wander, and I can't say that sometimes I wasn't too obvious about it. At least obvious enough for her to notice.

She giggles only few inches away from my face. "Relax, Cleon," she rolls her eyes at how predictable I am, or maybe how all men are. "That train has passed us a long time ago."

She steps aside and passes me on her way to the kitchen, where she disappears behind the closed, wooden doors. I burrow my face in the open palms of my hands, massaging my temples with the tips of my thumbs.

"You know," a voice appears behind me and I almost jump in place, startled. "She never asked about you, at least not directly," Alexandra walks into the room with a warm cup of tea in her hands and stands next to the time hole, staring directly into it. I don't have to ask who she means by _she_ , because I know. "Yet, sometimes she would call me when she was obviously and evidently slightly buzzed and she would ask million questions about you because she knew there's a high probability she will forget all the answers by the time morning comes. She had asked me once do you have anyone else in your life, and I told her no," she raises her head and looks at me pointedly. "I hope you haven't made a liar out of me, Cleon."

I swallow, feeling guilty for making her think to accuse me of such sin. "I haven't," I confess.

She continues looking at me in the same manner for the next few seconds before smiling, from one ear to another. "Good then," she replies, taking a sip of her tea.

"Don't you want to know why I never asked about her?" something urges me to inquire.

She shrugs. "I have always thought it's easier for you that way."

I nod understandingly because she's right, it was easier not knowing. "And if I asked, what would you tell me?"

She cocks her head to the side, her eyes wide open. "Well, you can ask her yourself since she's standing behind you."

* * *

"We need to leave," Artemisia says for what's probably the fourth time in the last sixty seconds.

I'm contemplating shutting the door in her face and running away from her through my window - but I live on the sixth floor and I still have no control over my floating powers.

"Do I need to pack?" I ask naively, dangling from the silver, round doorknob. "For how long will I be gone?"

My question takes her off guard, so she stays quiet for several seconds before replying, "You are not coming back."

"I have an exam on Tuesday," words continue leaving my mouth, making me sound like a senseless fool. "I have been studying for weeks, I need to pass that exam."

"Elpis," she says my name cautiously, like she's speaking to a mad woman who needs to be calmed down because she's a threat to herself and others. "It's time for us to leave - now."

"I - I can't," I back away from the door and step backwards, further into the room. She follows me, uninvited. "I'm not done here yet - I haven't said goodbye to everyone I wanted to say goodbye to. I still have holes in my memories, and my powers are weak."

Artemisia has been coming twice a week, ever since I left, in order to fulfill her role, which is mentoring me and teaching me the ways of our people. I still don't know what my element is - she keeps saying it will make itself known to us when the time comes. She also keeps praising me for my fast learning abilities, like I'm some kind of a defiant child who refuses to cooperate. Maybe she could sense my split feelings about the situation we are in because, the truth be told, I am getting quite tired of waiting for something to happen. I did everything I was supposed to do - I left the man I love, I moved away from my well known and comfortable surroundings and I have built some semblance of a normal life, I have remembered my true self and the life I was born into and yet nothing happened. How am I supposed to live like this? How am I supposed to move on when I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop any minute now? I can't fall in love because I already am in love, and I can't cure my loneliness because of who I am and because of what my morals abide - I can't find solace in someone else without feeling like I'm betraying Cleon and everything we're fighting for. I'm afraid of making new friends since they would just turn into more people I would have to leave behind. I have been living like a zombie, and now I'm afraid of leaving that life because there's so many more things I actually wanted to do while I'm here.

"None of that matters," she invades my personal space, "You will remember, and you will learn later, but now we need to go. Do you understand?" she places her hands on my shoulders and shakes me lightly. "Do you?"

I lock my eyes with hers and nod my head, signaling to her that yes, I do understand exactly what she's saying. I bite my lower lip in order to prevent myself from shedding some highly unnecessary tears.

"Okay," she exhales and lets go of my shoulders, grabbing my hand instead. "Hold on," she instructs me, and snaps her fingers.

My head starts to spin, and so does my stomach. I feel like I'm going to be sick. I close my eyes, as if I'm trying to wish this awful feeling away, when I hear voices which don't belong to neither me nor Artemisia. I will myself to open my eyes which is when I realize I'm in a very well known environment. My stomach still feels unwell, and there's something buzzing inside my ears, but my eyes recognize two familiar figures - Alexandra, who's staring directly at me and Cleon with his back turned to me.

Alexandra blinks several times in a row when Artemisia and I appear before her eyes, even though she doesn't seem as shocked by our sudden arrival. I can see her lips move, but the buzzing in my ears is still preventing me from hearing well - I guess she announces our arrival to him, because he turns around after less than five seconds of hesitation.

I feel like I'm seeing him for the very first time in my life. He had stayed the same and changed so much at the same time. His eyes are still the same shade of green, yet they convey extreme levels of determination. He is the same height, but he stands taller. His facial lines arrange a more serious expression, and it seems like his muscles have grown.

I want to say something, but no words come to my mouth so I continue standing there like an idiot. I can feel Artemisia breathing heavily behind me, nervous and impatient, but just like Alexandra she knows she shouldn't be the one to speak first.

He cocks his head to the side, studying me carefully, and I swallow nervously, hoping he says something soon.

And in the next few seconds, he does. "Your hair is shorter," he notices.

I raise my hand up and brush the tips of my hair with my fingers, feeling its soft edges on my fingertips. I have decided to cut my hair few months ago, during one of those desperate moments of insanity. When I felt like I'm million people rolled into one and wanted to have something of my own, even if it's something as minimally silly as a hairstyle - the point wasn't the seriousness or the size of the decision, but the fact that it is my decision, my choice.

"Yes," I manage to squeeze out.

He nods approvingly. "It looks nice."

Alexandra takes our short lived conversation as a mark to move and speak freely, so she appears in front of me and puts her arms around my body, hugging me tightly. "It's so nice to see you again," she presses a warm cup of tea next to my skin, making me feel more flustered than I already am.

"You too," I place my face into her hair and reply into it, probably making my voice sound hushed, while hugging her back.

When she releases me from her embrace, I come closer to the swirling hole in the ground, feeling far less enthusiastic about seeing it than I thought I would be.

I have seen this thing before, way back when Cleon and me were crossing over to this world. Granted, it looked way different, but the concept remains the same.

"I guess this is it, huh?" I exhale while looking into the storming mess underneath me.

"Artemisia!" I hear someone yell my mentors name, so I turn around instantly, ready for whatever's to come. Demonsthenes enters the room, followed by Aikaterine, and runs towards Artemisia, falling into her embrace which takes me by surprise. Cleon notices the bewildered look on my face, and he smiles. Demonsthenes buries her face into the crook between her bones, and she places her palm on the back of his neck, caressing him like he's a small child.

Aikaterine rolls her eyes at them, shifting her attention to me. "You're here. Good. Now we can finally go home."

* * *

 _ **STEFAN'S POV**_

I ask her for some alone time, and she agrees. I propose my room, and she indulges me in my request without hesitation.

I have no secrets to share, no truths to admit, and no hidings to reveal - I simply need her in the same room with me, alone. I want to enjoy the space occupied by only her and me.

Her eyes wander around my room when she steps inside, and as soon as I close the doors behind us, she says - "Everything looks the same."

"More or less," I reply vaguely. Simply because everything looks the same, it doesn't mean it is the same. "With me, at least - how about you?"

She has her back turned to me and I can see her shoulders tense when I ask that question. "Well, you have already noticed my hair," she bounces back pretty quickly since I can sense no irregularities in her voice. "Other than that, everything is the same with me as well."

Lies - everything has changed.

Uncomfortable silence fills the tiny space I call my bedroom, crushing all the furniture into ashes and stealing all the air from our lungs.

"Why do we keep lying to one another?" she turns around, her eyes big and glassy and my heart swells at the sight of them. Tragedy has never looked more appealing than when she wears it. "Nothing stayed the same. Everything is different."

"Look," I warn her, harshly. "I don't need to - no, I don't want to know what has happened in the last five years," I swallow.

Anger ignites in her eyes. "Well, I need to say it, weather you are keen to hearing it or not," she spits at me. "I have made no friends simply because I don't have the luxury of living in the now. I was studying for a future I obviously won't have. I was in hell, and people closest to me were miles away. I had no one to confide in. I kept lying to my family and Caroline. And I carry unthinkable amounts of guilt because I was the one who was granted with the access to leave and live, while you were the one who had to stay and wait," she finishes her speech with a serious expression on her face, her voice cracking little by little with every word that comes out of her mouth. "Do you - " she bows her head down, "Do you ever regret it?"

I furrow my brows, which are probably the only part of my body able to move. The soles of my shoes are glued to the hardwood floor I am standing on, holding me from falling face down and shattering into million little pieces. "Do I regret what?" I manage to reply.

She folds her fingers into a hard, pale fist, releasing the words one by one through her clenched teeth. "Ever seeing me, ever meeting me when we were still back home?"

I don't event want to dignify that with a reply. Such a question should never be asked, let alone answered. Yet, out of some reason, she refuses to let it go.

"Imagine, if we never met, you would probably marry Aikaterine, have several kids, a nice job and a somewhat happy life - "

"Somewhat happy life!" I spit out, my voice sounding way more harsher than she's used to hearing it.

"At least you would have a life," she argues, calmer than I am.

"And you? How do you imagine your life?" I ask.

She swallows, taking her eyes off of me. "I would rather not imagine it," she says hoarsely, because both of us know what kind of a life she would lead. Or maybe wouldn't lead at all. "You, though, you had choices."

"Yes," I agree, "Yes, I did. And I chose you. Laying my eyes on you, out of all the other people in the crowd, wasn't a choice, it was fate - meeting you was a choice, a choice I don't and could never regret," my words win her attention once again, and she looks back at me. "Before knowing you my life was an already written story, one I wasn't satisfied with - until you came along. You gave my life meaning, and no matter how our story develops, an ending which includes you is far more satisfactory than the one without you. Was coming here a mistake? Maybe. Were the better options? Maybe. We will never know. All we have is here and now."

"Will they ever disappear?" tears start running down her cheeks. "Women living inside of me? Women whose lives I stole, lives I ruined? I am trying so hard to throw them out of my head, yet every time I try they only grow bigger, like they are making sure they outgrow the space I want to kick them out through - so they can never leave, so they can destroy me as I have destroyed them. I can feel them all the time, especially all the pain they have been through. When does it stop? When does this feeling go away?"

I make my way towards her and pull her into my embrace. Her limp body falls into my arms like she is not even inside of it anymore.

"I don't know," I whisper into her hair. "I don't know."

We did a terrible thing. Our souls inhabited this world and possessed bodies which weren't theirs to possess. They have sneaked into lives of some unfamiliar people, and they have ruined them with the curse they have managed to drag with themselves over hundreds and hundreds of lifetimes.

All the people whose lives we have lived could have had better lives, happier lives, if only if it wasn't for us. And now, we have to carry them and their pain with us for the rest of our lives.

She puts her arms around me and pulls herself closer to my body. I can feel her heartbeat inside of my stomach.

"Was it hard for you too? Remembering me?" she asks, her face pressed against my torso.

A complicated question. "Yes and no," I admit. "The memories weren't the hard part. Most of the time they were pleasant. Not having you near me to share those moments with you was hard. I wanted to tell you all the things I didn't say back then. I wanted to relive those moments with you all over again."

She nods like she knows exactly what I'm talking about. "Me too," she says before letting go of me and taking a step back. "I want to show you something," she looks me into the eyes, intensely, a soft smile playing in the corners of her lips.

"Okay," I say cautiously.

She looks at my neatly folded bed, my sky blue covers covering it in its entire size. She cocks her head to the side, and then speaks like she's thinking out loud. "Green suits you better, don't you think?"

Just as I am about to ask her what she means by that, I notice the color of my covers slowly change from blue to green.

"I still have to practice, I am kinda slow," she smirks, "But a neat trick, don't you agree?"

I smile at her, "Absolutely." After several seconds, I decide to show her a trick of my own. "I have something to show you as well," I say.

Her eyes grow wide with excitement and curiosity.

I pull my shirt off of my back, and she catches her breath in her throat which makes me smile even wider. I guess some things haven't changed. I take it off completely, discarding the thin material on the floor.

"Well...?" she says impatiently. "I mean, I am impressed by your abs, but I have kinda seen them before."

I can feel blood rushing to my cheeks. "It takes me some time as well."

Not long after those words come out of my mouth, she parts her lips slightly, her eyes growing wider and wider with each passing second, following the tips of my wings as they keep protruding out of my back in awe.

"They appeared - " I start, but then shake my head with minimal movements. "No, they were always there, kind of. Demonsthenes had taught me to summon them around two years ago."

She nods in understanding, still eyeing my wings with such wonder. "They are," she blinks several times in a row like she has a nervous tic, "They are magnificent."

"And so are you," I whisper.

She smiles softly, then licks her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. "Do you remember our conversations back when we were in hiding in that damp cave?" she teases me because she very well knows I remember it like it was yesterday. And in some other universe, it was.

"Yes," I say to appease her.

"Well, no matter how painful and horrible everything seems here, I can't wait to start that life with you over there."

"Hmm," I hum, satisfied by her statement, "Maybe we should start practicing now, then. Just to make sure we still have it so we don't lose any time once we actually go back there."

"Oh, yeah?" she laughs while biting her lower lip at the same time.

I move closer to her and whisper, "Yeah."

I place my palm on the small of her back, and she bends her back slightly in the direction of the arm that's holding her. I pull her closer to me and she smashes into my chest with hands wide open. Feeling her touch on my bare skin again ignites me from within.

She is still smiling at me, warmly, so I smile back as I tuck a wild strain of her hair behind her ear.

I move my face closer to hers, I press my lips against hers, and kiss her after years which felt like centuries.

The ground starts to shake.

* * *

His wings are full of white, soft, fluffy feathers with a golden gleam. I take one of them between my fingertips as I lay on top of him, my bare skin pressed onto his playing with it like a child would.

I exhale quietly before rolling off of him and willing my body into a sitting position. His hand appears on my back and he traces my spine with one of his fingers like it is a road map.

"What's wrong?" he asks worriedly.

I turn my head over my shoulder in order to see the look in his eyes before replying, "Nothing. Nothing is wrong."

"What then?" he asks again, sensing something is off.

"I need to go back home one more time." When I say home I don't mean Ierus, I mean a house I grew up in here, in Mystic Falls. And by the way he pulls his lips into a thin line, he knows it as well. "I feel like I owe so much to the women whose lives I have inhabited, but I feel like I owe a little more to Elena because I am taking her life away. Literally. And if I am going to make her leave, make her disappear, then I want to take her back to one place she had always felt safe."

He nods, full of understanding - both leaving and staying in this place, waiting for the final shoe to drop, have equal, dire consequences.

I lie back down on the bed and give him one more kiss on those soft, pink lips before putting my clothes back on and disappearing through the window of his bedroom. I don't want anyone to see me because I want to avoid all the unwanted and unnecessary questions.

I know I don't possess enough energy or power to beam myself all over to my house, so in my head I imagine the place closest to my destination which my abilities can handle - the school. I appear on the thankfully empty school lawn and start walking in the direction of my house. In those moments I think of Caroline. Sweet, bubbly, always friendly Caroline. If I knew today would be the last day I saw her, I would have said something more meaningful. But I guess not knowing when to say goodbye is the most human thing I have ever done - humans never know when the very last goodbye is going to come, so they say it every time they leave and it usually comes that one time they forget to do so.

Once I finally reach my house, it fills me up with peace and quietude like it always did. I wrap my fingers around the golden knob and try to pry it open, but the doors seem to be locked. Back when I lived here, our house was never locked because my mom was almost always home. Ever since Jeremy left for college as well, though, mom became more active in the community and now she comes back home around the same hour dad usually does, which is late.

Too late to say goodbye. But I knew that when I decided to come here.

I find the key under the second flower pot from the left - mom moves it every day because she had heard that houses with the usual hiding place have a higher chance of being robbed. As if a robber would give up if he doesn't find the key under one particular flower pot.

I unlock the doors and enter the house - I enter each and every room in the house, stay there for several moments while trying to conjure some memories I have experienced in that particular room as my way of saying goodbye. I leave my room for the end. I open the giant wooden chest in front of my bed, full of all the diaries I have filled over the years. Out of my jacket's pocket, I fish out a diary I have managed to grab before Artemisia teleported us from my dormitory. I inhale deeply and open the very last diary entry from December 31, 2019. I reread it one more time. It's full of lies - lies I don't even wish were the truth. But those lies are here to console people I care about.

Artemisia says that every trace of Stefan and Elena will be wiped from the face of the Earth, including the memories of all the people they came in contact with, like they never existed. Dear God, I hope so, because I don't want my family to spend the rest of their lives wondering what happened to me. I don't want them to experience that kind of pain. But in case they do, here's an explanation, the same explanation I have left for my family in some of my previous lifetimes.

I trace my finger over the very last sentence in that diary - _"As long as we're together, everything is going to be alright."_

At least that much is true.

* * *

When I come back to the house, I catch all of them standing around the time hole, few of them speaking at the same time, their voices signaling each other out and their words overlapping.

Aikaterine is the first one to notice me when I walk into the room.

"You are back," she says bitterly, like she was hoping I won't actually come back.

"What is going on?" I ask worriedly, making my way towards Cleon.

"We are discussing if this is really the smartest thing to do," he takes my hand into his as soon as he feels my body next to his, responding softly. At first I'm confused, but then he looks down the time hole and I realize they have been discussing going in.

"Well, do we have any other choice?" I inquire.

"We can wait - if we wait, maybe something happens, maybe we get another sign," Alexandra proposes, meaning well.

"Yeah, but for how long? It could be years before something happens. Aren't you all tired of waiting?" I push them. Because I am, and they have been waiting for this far longer than me.

"She is right, we have to go in," Artemisia agrees with me.

"But we don't even know why our how this time hole appeared here," Demonsthenes argues.

"There's a lot we don't know about their curse. Like, when will they be ready, or how will we know. I take this time hole as a sign that they are ready enough not to disrupt anything in either of the universes," Artemisia makes her point. "We could have taken them back to Ierus at any point in time, we simply didn't know what the consequences would be. But this time hole appeared on its own, so I say let's take the opportunity and jump in."

After she finishes speaking no one else dares to continue until after several minutes of silence Cleon says, "So let's jump in."

And we do.


	33. EPILOGUE

By the time we came back home, Ierus had been completely destroyed by war, fire, famine and some natural causes caused by the actions of people inhabiting the land. It was hard to believe, by the looks of it, that anyone has managed to survive in such conditions. Everything was black, from burned lawns to the sky covered by dark clouds. Once colorful and fertile land was now crisp, the ground was damaged, and all signs of life have completely disappeared. Mother nature was unable to heal on its own. Aikaterine had spread her wings and with one swift motion left the ground, spinning and looking around herself with a bewildered look in her eyes. Her wings looked so shiny and clean compared to the pitch black sky.

"There is nothing," she announced once she finally came back down.

Cleon's look hardened, the solider and natural leader in him standing up and assuming its position. "What do you mean, there is nothing?"

"I mean, I can't see anything near us. No houses, no buildings, no trees or waterfalls. It is all gone."

It was hard to imagine everything gone, yet for miles and miles to come there was nothing but ruins and nature destroyed by fire. When we finally came across a tiny spring of water, Artemisia crouched down to renew it, yet no water appeared besides her tears. "So much pain," she screeched, "It is in so much pain." Back then, I still wasn't strong enough to help her renew that small spring, despite my best efforts.

We continued walking, and after several hours we have finally stumbled upon an old, dying tree where a family of fairies had lived. They were scared to see us, but more than that they were shocked by our presence.

"Witches and angels," one of them had hissed at us, "What an unusual thing to witness, you usually don't play well."

"Neither do you," Artemisia had fired back, something the fairy didn't particularly like. Witches and fairies were never in good relations, since witches were the advocates of truth and fairies loved avoiding it and playing games.

After we have managed to convince them that we mean no harm, they have shared their recollections of what has happened here with us.

War. Savages. Rage. A lot of species were fed up with the way angels were acting towards them, and ruling the land. The rebellion was in the air decades prior to the war. Only stories. I remember those stories. I remember my parents were the ones telling them. Then, they became organized. More species joined. Soon, it was every living race against the angels, in theory. They didn't have a plan, only a cause. They started taking angels one by one - when they were buying food, herbs, when they come for pleasure or when they were drunk. They would drug them, kill them and burn them. It didn't take long for angels to realize something is wrong, especially since some people became bolder. The would detach the angels wings and leave them in obvious and easily reachable places, like they are a message for other angels, saying _'you are next'_. After that, angels didn't even try to talk, listen, negotiate - they started locking people up, and killing them if they resisted. They reinforced their patrols and if someone tried anything fishy them and their entire family would be sentenced to death. That's how the big war started and soon no one knew for who or what they were fighting for, so everybody started attacking and killing everybody. Robbing each other. Burning homes and cities and crops, out of fun or out of despair.

They questioned how come we know nothing about this, so we tried to give them as little information as possible. In return, Artemisia has managed to heal their home a little, and this is something I was able to offer my help in doing. They were surprised by our actions, but kept repeating that they will forever owe us, and such truths and gratitude mean greatly coming from a fairy. Many have misused those debts.

They also gave us directions towards the Citadel, the home of the angels. They have warned us about the state of the place, and all of the angels swallowed deeply, so I grabbed Cleon by the hand in order to borrow him a little bit of my own power, which he kindly accepted.

No one could prepare us for the image before us. I was shocked, so I can only image the pain they were in, seeing their home in such condition.

Golden domes were shattered or completely removed from snow white constructions. Some of them were standing only thanks to two or three supporting columns, while some were evened with the ground thanks to the lack of the columns presence. Rich, colorful gardens were now gone, as well as lively squares and parks. Citadel was famous for its beauty, and now it is only several buildings rising from the ashes.

There were no guards on the main gates, so we were free to enter the premises. We heard some chatter as soon as we came in and the deeper we went, the louder and livelier the chatter has become. Cleon relaxed and hope filled his hard facial lines.

We ran in the direction the voices were coming from and find several angels around the fire - drinking, laughing, chatting. When they saw us, all signs of life ceased to exist, and all of them looked at us the same way fairies did - shocked and surprised.

One of them finally stood up, his lip trembling. "My Lords - " he managed to utter. Other angels shift their attention to their friend, their jaws slowly falling down, causing their mouths to open wide. They haven't recognized neither Cleon nor Demonsthenes, and they seem ashamed for it.

"My mother..." Cleon said, his voice full of emotion, the wrong kind. "Where is my mother?"

The angel was taken back by the question, like he expected a different one.

"He was one of the King's guards," Alexandra whispered into my ear, nodding towards him.

Being one of the King's guards was a big honor for an angel and his family. The man standing up must have great respect and loyalty towards their family, which is probably why he's the one who recognized Cleon and Demonsthenes for who they really are.

I wondered does he know the Queen is responsible for the King's death. Maybe that's why he seems shaken by Cleon's question - why would he be interested in a well being of a traitor? His fathers murderer?

Finally, he raised his arm towards the tower rising above the palace, or at least what's left of it, and said, "She's mourning." He didn't reveal the source of her mourning.

Cleon and Demonsthenes shared a knowing look, thanked the angel for the information given and spread their wings, prompting themselves from the ground and flying towards the direction of the tower.

"The Princes are back," I could hear murmurs behind me back. Angels scattered, running in different directions, rejoicing, "They're back! The Princes are back!" They saw salvation in their return, and there are probably more angels hidden around the Citadel they want to carry the good news to.

I could feel a cold breeze around my ankles, and I wonder where did it come from when only a second ago the only thing I could feel was the warmth raising from the ashes covering the soil. Only when my body started leaving the ground was when I had realized Artemisia is taking us up in the air as well.

We landed on the top of the tower at the same time as angels do, entering an empty room coated by nothing else but glimmering, silver marble. In the middle of the room there was a woman on her knees, covered by a black tog, silently crying on the floor.

"Mother?" Cleon said with a shaky voice.

"Leave, demon!" the woman cried.

"Mother," Demonsthenes tried. The woman said nothing this time.

"Mother, it's us," Cleon continued. "We have come home."

I could hear murmurs coming from outside. Aikaterine moved towards the window and after several seconds called Alexandra over to join her. I could see them whisper among each other, sharing secrets or forming a plan.

The woman started moving her body from her position on the floor until she finally sat up and the black tog fell from her back, her wings folded on her back, its tips purple, almost black. Other parts were covered in different shades of blue, like she hid the true colors of the sky in them. In angels, blue is the color of sadness - the darker the color, the bigger the sadness.

She turned around. Her body was be small and limp, showing clear signs of older age, yet her face was youthful.

"Cleon? Demonsthenes?" she said with a pained tone of voice, like she didn't believe her eyes.

"Yes," Cleon said carefully. "It is us."

It didn't take long for the woman to stand up and throw herself on them, falling perfectly into the middle, between the empty space between their bodies. She threw her arms around each of their necks, pulled them closer, painting a funny image - a tiny woman on the end of her strengths overpowering two men in their prime with a single hug.

"Boys!" she cried into their necks, "My boys! You came back to me! You are home!"

Artemisia had pulled me towards the window on the other side of the tower, and we steered our looks in the direction where our village used to be - there's nothing there now. Only ashes and unmarked graves, destroyed crops and lives taken too early. If we stayed, could we stop this? Could we at least help? Or would we die in the process as well? Artemisia was asking herself the same questions - I could tell, because there were tears in the corners of her eyes, similar to mine.

"Did they ever find out?" Demonsthenes asked quietly, carefully.

"No," she shook her head, "Never."

She started telling them a story of the demise of their Kingdom, similar to the one fairies had told us, but in more detail. A lot of people had died, and a lot of them had fled to other Universes. There's maybe several specimens of each species left - maybe.

"People are starving. They have no one to tell them what to do, no one to lead them," she said, still holding on to her sons. Aikaterine and Alexandra exchanged a look, like they knew what's about to come out of her mouth. "Thankfully, you two are here now!"

There was a crowd outside the tower now, and they continued cheering, "The Princes are back!"

Demonsthenes swallowed, and Cleon exhaled. Artemisia tensed next to me as her lovers shoulder slouched.

"We will talk later," Cleon had placed his hands on her shoulders, smiling at her gently. "Now, I want you to meet someone," he looked at me, and her eyes had followed the direction of his gaze.

I inhaled nervously as two sets of very similar eyes fell on me.

However, that was then.

This is now.

I place my palm over the damaged, burned, black ground. I can feel the earth shake from the inside, mother nature's way of mumbling _'thank you, thank you, thank you'_ as loudly as possible. After some time, green grass appears under my palm, slowly becoming darker as it spreads for miles and miles to come. I squeeze my hand, drawing energy from my insides, my memories and air which surrounds me until trees start popping up in the distance. I smile as they find their place, releasing their roots deep into the ground. I can feel them grow and bloom and that feeling fills me up with inexplicable joy, granting me more power than I had before I gave them life.

Artemisia and I have finally finished my training and in the process we have discovered my element - spiritus, or animo, like our ancestors used to call it. All the power I use in order to create a new life comes back to me doubly. Which means I have to be careful how often I create new life, and in which capacity, because that amount of power can be quite dangerous and terribly hard to control. Spiritus is a quite rare element and our ancestors believed it is granted only to those who are worthy of it, and who are capable of handling its power in dignity and grace.

I wipe away few beads of sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, throwing my long braid over my shoulder. I look over the empty lawn, feeling like something is missing so I clap my hands and hold my palms open and flowers of various colors start popping from the ground. I pick few of them and make a flower crown for my head.

It has been several years since we came back to Ierus which means several centuries have passed back on Earth - if I went back to pay a visit to me temporary home, I would probably find it unrecognizable. Everyone Elena knew have passed away and new generations of her relatives were born, lived, had children of their own and then passed away as well. Caroline, Jeremy, her parents and everyone from her study group back at college are now gone. I can only hope they have lived a happy life with no memory of her residing anywhere in them like a big, black hole of loss and despair.

It took me a while to stop mourning them. The sadness of stealing the lives of every person my soul has inhabited keeps haunting me, yet the guilt over stealing Elena away from her home is extremely hard because, in a way, she will always stay with me. She never had a chance to live, or to die - she simply ceased to exist in order to make room for my own existence. I keep comforting myself with the thought that she at least lived some semblance of a life she would have lived with some other soul in her body. Sometimes, I even comfort myself with something an old wizard had told me, that there's a chance she wouldn't even exist if it weren't for me. That every body, every life I have inhabited was designed especially for me, and that's why I feel so close and similar to them.

It's easier to think our curse made a special place for us to exist instead of stealing someone else's.

I stand up, my silky white dress falling around my body and I move towards the trees with a wooden basket in my hand, enjoying the tickle of grass on my bare feet. Once I reach one of them I place my palm on its soft trunk, caressing it until it starts growing flowers which eventually turn into cherries. I shake the branches by creating a gentle summer breeze and cherries fall into my basket. Next come apples, oranges, bananas and lemons.

Behind me, I hear soft, quiet laughter, so I turn around with a wide smile on my lips.

"Ah, there you are!" I say, amused. "For a moment there, I had feared you dug a hole in the ground to hide from me again."

He squeals, satisfied by my assumption, wobbling towards me with some help of his two fat baby legs. Big, yellow curls are falling over his eyes, making him trip every once in a while, so he uses his tiny wings to keep his balance. When he comes closer to me I catch him in my arms and he steals my flower crown from my head.

"You like it?" I ask him as I help him adjust it on his head.

He nods excitedly.

"You ready to go home?"

He nods again, stealing a cherry from the tree with his tiny fingers.

He starts nibbling on it with some help of his two front teeth on our way back to the Citadel. It looks very different than it did before - we have made it our own. Thick walls are now decorated by vines with colorful flowers which can turn quite ruthless if I decide so. I say hello to the guards at the main gate who aren't needed anymore due to our magic, but angels can't abandon all of their traditions. Adrian releases his own sound of greeting, which makes the angels smile as they bow at us, something I have asked them not to do many, many times before.

As soon as we enter the Citadel I hear cheerful screams of children as they play around a fountain in the garden. On our way towards the palace we meet at least thirty people who say hello to us, and I give some fruit to several children whom I catch eyeing the delicious food. Ever since the air cleared and the sun reappeared, it's been shining sharper than ever, so juicy fruit is quite refreshing during warm, sunny days.

After Cleon and Demonsthenes have recovered their mother, they locked themselves in a room in order to have a long and peaceful talk as people outside continued screaming their names, attracting attention of some other species living in the close proximity of the Citadel. Everyone expected Demonsthenes to take over - he was older, he was trained and he was next in line to rule, and the angels saw their return as a sign of the uprising of the old system. However, Demonsthenes never wanted to rule. He was fine with being a solider, but he didn't have a vision of a ruler, especially not now when people need someone to lead them step by step into their new life.

So Cleon took over, something the angels were fine with as well, since he was second in line. Yet, his way of ruling wasn't something they expected, or were prepared for. Angels were still warriors, but so could be anyone else willing to undergo a training, which means families other than angels were permitted to live inside of Citadel. He had created a Council where all the species could have an envoy so their opinions and needs could be represented. And, finally, he had married me which means he didn't frown upon the mixing of species.

However, despite their initial fear and rebellion, he had showed them that he is a fair and smart leader, someone they can count on to make good and tough and necessary decisions, so they took his advanced way of thinking as a necessity as well. I would like to think they did learn something from the war.

As soon as we enter the palace, Adrian struggles in my arms, silently begging me to release him. I smile as I lower him on the floor, as he very slowly runs towards the room on the left, screeching happily. I follow him, already knowing where he's headed. When I enter the room, he's already in Cleon's arms, pulling at his jaw.

"What do you have there, my sweet little boy?" he points at the flower crown on Adrian's head.

The baby is resting comfortably on his fathers arm, producing some utterly incoherent sounds. Cleon raises his look from our son and directs me a warm, loving smile.

"Where were the two of you?" he asks gently.

"Oh, you know us," I pick a cherry from the basket, "Always somewhere doing something mischievous." When I come close enough, I give him a peck on the lips before popping a cherry into his open mouth.

We used to have long, tiring conversations about how we are going to raise our children - as angels, or as witches? We were raised under very different surroundings, experiencing two very different types of upbringing. I guess we have received our answers thanks to the way Artemisia and Demonsthenes were raising their children. The conclusion was as follows - we aren't going to raise them as neither angels nor witches, because they won't be one of those things, they are going to be both. So we are going to raise them as both. If they grow up with a wish to become soldiers, they are going to be equipped with much needed skills. And if they grow up with a wish to become magic teachers, they are going to know every spell in the book.

Now, we have three very hands on half angels, half witches who have passion for everything.

"How did the Council meeting go?" I ask, sliding the basket from my elbow bent arm to his work desk.

"Ah," he exhales pointedly, "It was... well, it was fine, actually. We have more pressing matters to attend to, though," he says. "Come," he takes me by the hand while still holding Adrian who seems more peaceful in his fathers embrace than anywhere else.

"Where are we going?" I giggle as he pulls me outside of the room, across the hall, up the stairs towards the other wing of the palace.

"To see one of our greatest achievements, of course," he says smugly, which is how I know he's talking about one of our children.

And when I see that we are going towards the balcony hanging over the training room, I also know which one of our children he's referring to.

When he's not working with the real army, Demonsthenes is teaching children how to engage in a battle. All the tips and tricks of offense and defense known to every species in the Universe, and then some.

"Look," Cleon whispers into my ear, pointing towards a girl stepping into the middle of the ring, "There she is."

Indeed, there she is, our Eloi - her long, yellow hair is tied in a firm braid with orchids peeping from the spot where her hair is twisting, like they are an essential part of her being. She is dressed into her gear, her wings sticking proudly from her back, blindingly white with a golden gleam. Unlike her opponent, who is wearing knee high leather boots, her feet are completely bare.

"Watch this," Cleon says proudly, warning me even before she makes a move.

I don't recognize the girl standing across from our daughter - she's tall, with strong and masculine extremities, thick shoulder length brown hair and fiery eyes. It is only when I notice a bow and arrows on the back of her armor is when I realize she is an elf - I guess her thick hair is good for hiding her pointy ears. She shrieks and begins to move towards Eloi who seems calm and collected, some would even say bored. When a shrieking girl approaches her, she jumps in the air swiftly and holds herself up by the use of her wings, confusing her opponent with her sudden disappearance. She uses her confusion to create a soft, but powerful wind with a swirl of her finger, which she directs towards the girl and knocks her on the ground.

Demonsthenes raises his look to Cleon and smiles at him mischievously. I guess they were right all along, a hybrid between an angel and a witch is a powerful, powerful thing.

The girl on the floor shrieks in anger and gets back to her feet, reaching for her bow and arrow. Eloi notices that and pulls one orchid flower from her hair, alongside its root. She uses it to knock down an arrow flying her way, alongside the weapon from the girls arms, and wraps the orchid root around the girl, tightening it around her body. The girl struggles to move, to set herself free, but she's unable to.

"How's that fair?" she yells, angry and humiliated.

"Fair?" Demonsthenes blinks at her, acting like he has no idea what she's talking about.

"None of us have her powers," she looks at Eloi, who flinches. No matter the scope of her power, she is still only a sensitive child. I have a strong urge to go to her and wrap her in my arms and I guess Cleon senses that since he presses his palm against my back in order to offer me support.

"And do you think that's her fault? Do you think the enemy will mind that?" Demonsthenes says, moving in front of Eloi, shielding her body with his. "No, the enemy will use that! It is not about her powers, it is about the way you use yours," he says before yelling, "Class dismissed."

Eloi releases the girl from the roots grasp and places the orchid back in her hair. Kids start moving towards the exit, congratulating Eloi on her win. Demonsthenes gets on his knees, wraps his hands around Eloi's arms and says something to her. She nods and smiles, thanking him by giving him a peck on the cheek.

She raises her look towards us and her wings begin to flutter. "Mother! Father!" she exclaims while flying towards us, "Did you see me?" she asks excitedly.

She flies into my arms and I wrap my arms around her body, pulling her into a hug. "We sure did, baby," I kiss her on the side of her head.

"You really did use your full potential," Cleon smiles at her as I sway her in my arms.

She raises her arms in the air, showing off her muscles. "When I grow up, I will do even better! Now," she turns to me, "I told my sister I will join her in the garden after the class. Can I?" she looks at me pleadingly.

"Of course," I give her one more kiss on the cheek before lowering her on the ground. She runs into the corridor, her bare feet clapping against the cold marble.

I place my open palms over my face, exhaling loudly.

"Hey," Cleon pulls my body into his.

"She will have to put up with this her entire life," I say, my voice hard.

"It will make her stronger," he tries to console me.

"She shouldn't be that strong. Not here, and not now," I say, shaking my head.

Adrian, who is still resting peacefully on his arm, yawns, placing his head on his fathers shoulder, ready for his afternoon nap.

"Hey, hey," he says again. "She is the picture of our struggles, our battles, our work. She represents unity; she represents future. And she will prevail." After all, she is expected to take over her father one day.

"Huh," I say, "You kinda always had a way with words," I raise my head from his chest and smile at him, watching Adrian fall asleep on his shoulder from the corner of my eye. I take the flower crown off of his head so it doesn't cause him any discomfort, and place it on top of Cleon's.

"Well, you kinda bring that out of me," he whistles.

I blush. After all these years, I blush. "I love you," I say, hasty, with sweaty hands, the same way I did back when I was in Elena's skin.

"I love you too."

He, on the other hand, says those words as if they are the only words he knows.

* * *

 _ **AN:** And here we are, at the very end of this story. A big thank you to everyone who have been reading this while I was still in the process of writing it, and thank you to everyone who will read after it's done. I hope you have enjoyed this journey with me ;)_

 _May we meet again._


End file.
